My artistic journey begins in 1st grade. My mother being the first to recognize my innate love for expression. She gave me easy access to art materials, and adored anything I laid before her. Like most artists, I diverted from my first love at the behest of sensible people.
The daughter of a socialist immigrant, I resolved to enter into humanitarian fields. International relations, pre-law, humanities, community organizing, missions work. For 10 years, I worked and volunteered in social worky jobs until I got an actual Masters and license in Social Work.
Unfortunately, those who are most called to the profession, are often the most vulnerable to it’s arrows. It’s impossible to work with the most abused, marginalized, and traumatized and get out unscathed. You carry— I carried their pain with me home, on dates, to outings with family.
After a year, though I loved my job, I could not steward any more stories in my heart. One day, after a client left my office, my body told me “no more” as I began disassociating and developing physical pain, fatigue and paranoia. I had to exit suddenly, and started the following week working as a massage therapist.
But all along the way, I was painting. It seemed to be the only thing that when I gave myself to it, it gave me in equal measure back. I began getting opportunities to show my work and develop murals. After my first show and mural in 2017, I had a dream of myself in deep ceremony, receiving a blessing of initiation. “Why not me” was the clear message.