I write almost every day to empty my mind. My head is always filled with thoughts and memories, flowing and interrupting my day. I write to release, to get it down and make sure these moments are accounted for. When I think back to places, interactions, or ideas I’ve written about, certain colours come to mind. I use these colours to translate my stories into paintings. Most colours come from something specific. I reference real world objects, people, places, and then I translate them abstractly, since memory is something fleeting and not concrete.
Since I was little I knew I wanted to be an artist. In elementary school I dressed up with a beret and a cardboard painting pallet for career day. Throughout high-school I would stay up late in my room cutting out images from Vogue magazines and arranging them in sketchbooks or on my walls. I applied to art school in Boston, majored in painting and just stuck with it.
There definitely has been a lot to battle against. For one thing, it was hard to convince my family from a conservative, small town that being an artist is a legit way of life. But, each confrontation was just used as motivation to work my hardest and make things happen.