Since I can remember I have been on my own, unheard, disregarded, and disappointed by figures I was taught to trust. I became immune to the abuse of any kind, believing this was normal. My only way of expression has not been with my voice, but with my appearance, and what I create.
Large, thin brushstrokes express anger and hurt. Pain, which is different, is expressed with style and composition. Healing is through color, and it goes on.
Today I paint out of love for myself, and it’s truly my soulmate.