Behind the Canvas: Art as a Mirror, Not a Masterpiece

I didn’t grow up knowing I’d become an artist. It wasn’t something I planned. It was something I returned to.

Something that found me when I finally stopped running from myself.

I began painting during a season of rediscovery—when self-doubt was loud, but my intuition was louder. And I didn’t need it all figured out. I just needed to listen.

My art began in the quiet. No rituals. No rules. Just me, a brush, and a need to feel again.

My Studio Isn’t Silent

I don't have strict routines or structured rituals—but I know how I like to feel when I paint. When I’m laying down underpaintings, I play music. Something cinematic, emotional, something that moves me before a brush even touches the canvas.

Later, as the piece begins to take shape, I often switch to something more grounded—podcasts, audiobooks, or thoughtful conversations in my ears. They keep me present, but not distracted. Like someone keeping me company while I create.

It’s a rhythm I’ve come to trust.A quiet partnership with sound and flow.

Where My Inspiration Lives

I take photos of flowers like they’re love letters from the earth. Sometimes I need to get out of my head and into the world. I look at petals and skies and tree bark, not just for shapes, but for colour stories. Nature reminds me how wild and unexpected beauty can be.

I also look to the stillness of man-made things. Buildings, doorways, archways. The patterns carved into stone, the repetition of tiles, the rhythm of windows. Offering structure in contrast to nature’s softness.

This balance (of organic and geometric, of flow and form) often finds its way into my work. That’s what I chase when I paint.Not perfection. Not a plan.Just truth—layer by layer.

My Process: From Messy to Refined

I rarely begin with a clean idea. The only thing I plan is the composition (otherwise it’ll turn out bad) I start with movement, drips, textures, smudges, splashes, scribbles. A mess that lets me lose control.

Oils are my favourite medium. They hold richness. They let me take my time for those detailed layers that make you notice the forms.

I paint with filbert brushes because they soften my strokes but still give me edge when I need it. I leave the brush marks in on purpose. I want the viewer to see the journey. To feel where I moved quickly. Where I hesitated, and when I came back to something days later with more clarity.

Why I Love Texture, Mark-Making, and Colour

I’ve come to realise that my love for texture, colour, and mark-making is more than an aesthetic preference, it’s an emotional language. The way I layer paint, the marks I leave, the colours I choose… they all reflect how I’m feeling in that moment. Sometimes the strokes are soft and quiet. Other times, they’re bold, sharp, or unfiltered. And I don’t try to control that anymore.

Because I don’t believe humans are meant to be linear. We’re not made of one mood, one energy, or one version of ourselves. We have highs and lows. Good days and bad. Softness and strength. To me, that tension, that push and pull of daily life is the meaning of being alive and it’s worth celebrating.

Texture is how I show the mess. Colour is how I show the feeling. Mark-making is how I show the truth. It’s not always pretty. But it’s always honest.

What Hasn’t Changed

While I love experimenting with colour and texture, I always come back to the same themes. Empowerment. Self-worth. Intuition. Each piece is part of a much larger story, one I’m still writing.

I once thought I had to follow strict rules to be taken seriously as an artist, but I’ve realised my truest work happens when I let go of the rules completely.

This isn’t just my process. It’s my permission slip—to feel, to explore, to evolve.

A Note To You,

If my paintings hold that space for you to be both bold and soft, refined and messy, confident and still figuring things out, then I know I’ve done my job.

Because art isn’t just something I create.

It’s something I return to again and again.

I hope you find comfort in that, too.