With the growing instability of social media,
I am bringing back the classic email newsletter!
Invite pretty pictures and letters from a creative life straight to your inbox, no more algorithms, ever-changing feeds, pop-ups, or paywalls. My ideal schedule would be once monthly, in a casual blog format containing personal stories related to art life, happy celebrations, upcoming events, adventures, new paintings and projects, the usual fun stuff I usually post online.
(Below is an excerpt of a blog post I wrote in 2020, an example of the kind of stories I hope to share with you. Enjoy!)
I am bringing back the classic email newsletter!
Invite pretty pictures and letters from a creative life straight to your inbox, no more algorithms, ever-changing feeds, pop-ups, or paywalls. My ideal schedule would be once monthly, in a casual blog format containing personal stories related to art life, happy celebrations, upcoming events, adventures, new paintings and projects, the usual fun stuff I usually post online.
(Below is an excerpt of a blog post I wrote in 2020, an example of the kind of stories I hope to share with you. Enjoy!)
Being Honest with my Art
It's easy to fall into the habit of distancing myself from art. In 2020, I was so overwhelmed by doomscrolling and worries, that sketch studies and drawing pretty things felt impossible.
One night, I sat down, put on some Minecraft music, and scribbled out all of my intrusive thoughts until my mind was quiet. I started drawing a fantasy landscape inspired by my favourite mesa biome.
And then it hit me: I had the perfect photo references for this!
One night, I sat down, put on some Minecraft music, and scribbled out all of my intrusive thoughts until my mind was quiet. I started drawing a fantasy landscape inspired by my favourite mesa biome.
And then it hit me: I had the perfect photo references for this!
When I was six, my grandparents took me to a dinosaur museum, and I was obsessed. I would draw dinosaurs on everything!
Shortly after that trip, my extended family ripped itself apart, and long story short, we'd lost meaningful contact. When I turned 18, my grandparents sent me a box of objects that they had saved for me: a doll, these photos of our trip, and a dinosaur souvenir that featured a little gold-wrapped wire tree made with amethyst pieces.
This drawing made me think deeply about coincidences. Was I drawn to the colourful landscapes because of some subconscious effect this trip had left on me? Did I add lily pads out of habit, or because they are yet another symbol from my childhood?
If I didn't become fascinated with drawing dinosaurs, would I even still be an artist today?
Shortly after that trip, my extended family ripped itself apart, and long story short, we'd lost meaningful contact. When I turned 18, my grandparents sent me a box of objects that they had saved for me: a doll, these photos of our trip, and a dinosaur souvenir that featured a little gold-wrapped wire tree made with amethyst pieces.
This drawing made me think deeply about coincidences. Was I drawn to the colourful landscapes because of some subconscious effect this trip had left on me? Did I add lily pads out of habit, or because they are yet another symbol from my childhood?
If I didn't become fascinated with drawing dinosaurs, would I even still be an artist today?
The gang's all here: the Neapolitan ice cream landscape, the magical lily pads of my youth, the amethyst crystal trees. I began this project with the itch to paint something big. A personal landscape. By listening to my meditative thoughts and allowing my art to connect with them, I could use my art to express myself honestly and tell a story that people could understand.
I could visually recreate the exaggerated, rose-coloured utopia of childhood. There’s an electrical storm waiting in the distance, representing the dread of what might lie ahead.
I could visually recreate the exaggerated, rose-coloured utopia of childhood. There’s an electrical storm waiting in the distance, representing the dread of what might lie ahead.
