One body, a thousand lives
These paintings were born in a small, old greenhouse in Joshua Tree.
It was an interesting time in my life. A part of me was genuinely happy, full of love, light, confidence, and creativity. And another part of me was deeply depressed.
I had planned to make an acrylic flow painting, but couldn't find the supplies I needed. So I went to Home Depot, bought paintbrushes and three tubs of paint: black, white, and brown. And for the first time in years, I painted myself.
One Body, a Thousand Lives is about what we carry but don't talk about. The parts of ourselves we hide, hate, or try to fix, and learning to understand and love them instead.
My art isn't about having it all figured out. Creating is how I move through the darkness. And somewhere in that darkness, I always find love, God, and a way back to the light.
The women have no faces so the story stays open. So you can feel them. So you can see yourself in them.
ONE BODY, A THOUSAND LIVES
These paintings were born in a small, old greenhouse in Joshua Tree.
It was a strange time in my life. From the outside, I looked like I was doing really well. My art was taking off. My body looked the best it ever had. I was in the desert, painting, with someone I loved.
But inside, I was deeply depressed.
I was also carrying a lot of shame. People I loved had opinions about the choices I was making, and I was tired of hearing them. I didn't want advice. I didn't want anyone telling me what I should or shouldn't do. I wanted to disappear into the desert for a while and live my life for myself.
When I arrived, a little painting station had been set up for me inside the greenhouse, decorated with flowers. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for me.
I had planned to make an acrylic flow painting, but I couldn't find the supplies I needed in Joshua Tree. So I went to Home Depot and bought paintbrushes and three tubs of paint: black, white, and brown.
And for the first time in years, I painted myself.
There was something about reducing my body to those three colors that felt right. No face. No identity. No explanation. Just a body holding everything I couldn't see from the outside.
I kept thinking about how easily we look at another person and believe we know them. We see a body, a face, a relationship, a career, a photograph. We see one life.
But there are entire worlds living underneath.
The woman in that greenhouse was in love and heartbroken. Confident and deeply insecure. Successful and depressed. She wanted to be seen and wanted to disappear. None of those versions of her were less true than the others.
One body, a thousand lives.
I didn't know it then, but those paintings would become the beginning of something much bigger. They changed the way I looked at the body in my work, not as something to perfect or even something purely physical, but as a vessel for every version of us that has lived, loved, hurt, survived, and changed.
When I look at a body now, I don't see one life.
I see all the lives it took to get here.
