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Where the Mountains Glow With Your Name emerged from a quiet ache — a longing for closeness, for familiarity, for the ground beneath me to answer back. I pieced it together gently, layer upon layer, with fragments of memory and soft light. It carries the warmth I was searching for, and the silent hope that the land might offer comfort when everything else had changed.

This painting speaks to the shift in identity, the tender unraveling and rebuilding that comes with becoming — especially as a mother. Though rooted in my experience, it’s meant to be shared. You may see your own path here: a place once cherished, a feeling you haven’t named, a sky that watched over you.

More than an image, it’s an invitation — to pause, to connect, to remember something luminous and enduring.

What the Lake Saw was born from a quiet walk with my James and Silvi along the shores of Spider Lake. It’s my largest piece yet, and in many ways, it holds the spaciousness I felt that day—the wide sky, the still water, the unspoken conversations. Like all my work, it came together intuitively. I tore and layered paper as a way of letting go, trusting the piece to reveal itself over time. There was no plan, only a feeling I followed. In the solitude of my studio, I built each layer slowly, allowing memory, connection, and landscape to intertwine. If you move through life by listening more than pushing, if you trust what unfolds naturally, What the Lake Saw might feel like a reflection of your own inner terrain.

This piece, Edge of the Pacific, is all about that feeling of standing on the coastline, looking out where the land meets the sky. The cliffs are solid, weathered, shaped by time, while the sky stretches endlessly above—soft, layered, always shifting. There’s a lot of space in this one, which I love. It reminds me of those moments when you just stop and take it all in—the quiet, the movement, the way the landscape makes you feel small in the best way.

I built up the textures with torn paper, letting the layers guide the shapes of the land and sky. The trees lean slightly, shaped by the wind, holding their ground at the edge. It’s one of those places that feels both wild and familiar, and I wanted to capture that balance.

Tides of Green plays with perception—the way the ocean, under certain light, can mimic rolling fields, blurring the line between land and sea. I’ve always been drawn to these shifting moments, where what we think we see isn’t quite what it seems. This piece is about that in-between space, where movement and stillness coexist, and where the ocean holds the memory of the earth.

Morning cuddles with mom are the most precious moments, filled with warmth and comfort. As the day begins, those few quiet minutes wrapped in her embrace feel like the world slows down, and nothing else matters. The softness of her arms, the gentle rhythm of her breath, and the feeling of being so close create a bubble of peace and safety. It's a time when words aren’t needed—just the simple act of being together speaks volumes. In those tender moments, the love and connection between mother and child are felt more deeply than anything, and the day ahead seems just a little bit brighter because of it.

No matter where life's journey takes us, there is a profound truth that resonates deeply: home is where a mother is. As we traverse through new cities and embrace diverse experiences, we often find ourselves yearning for the familiar warmth of her presence. It is in the simple, nurturing moments shared with her that we discover what truly makes a place feel like home. The comfort of her love, the sense of security she provides, and the gentle embrace of her care define home far more than any physical location ever could. In her presence, the world’s chaos settles, and we are reminded that home is not just a place, but the heart where we are loved and cherished.