Welcome to My Creative Space

In a world saturated with digital images and mass-produced prints, original mixed media art offers something refreshingly tactile, deeply personal, and visually rich. As an artist, I’ve always been drawn to materials that tell stories—not just through color and form, but through texture, layering, and unexpected combinations. That’s why mixed media has become such an essential part of my creative process.

When I travel, I like to take photographs of places, people, and details that speak to me. Faces, landscapes, and small moments often carry a quiet resonance. Once I’m back home, I save the images that feel most alive in a special folder. Some of them wait there for years, until the right time comes to paint them. They become a kind of archive of impressions, memories waiting to be transformed into canvases.

When it comes to presenting oil paintings, few topics stir as much quiet debate among artists as framing. Some swear by it, others—like myself—prefer to let the canvas speak for itself. So, should you frame your painting? And if so, how do you choose the right one?

There’s a particular kind of magic that happens when you first fall in love with the art world. It’s not quiet or measured—it’s wild, joyful, and all-consuming. I remember the early days vividly: stepping into an art supply shop felt like entering a cathedral of possibility. The scent of linseed oil, the rows of untouched brushes, the rainbow of pigments—all of it whispered create, create, create.

In the quiet corners of my studio, tucked behind fresh canvases and jars of pigment, lie the paintings I once called finished. Some are framed, others are stacked gently in portfolios, and a few rest unceremoniously in drawers—half-forgotten, half-remembered. Revisiting old artwork is more than a nostalgic exercise. It’s a dialogue with my former self, a mirror held up to the evolution of my creative voice.

There’s a moment in every painting when the rush fades. The first strokes—bold, intuitive, full of fire—have settled into form. The composition breathes. And then comes the part I struggle with most: the waiting.

A Gentle Guide for Those Who Want It—Not Rules to Follow

🎨 Why Titles Matter More Than You Think

There’s a quiet kind of struggle that every artist knows. It’s not dramatic. It doesn’t announce itself. It simply arrives—softly, slowly—and suddenly, the canvas feels foreign, the notebook heavy, the spark distant.

For the first time since launching my art business online, I stepped away. No Instagram posts, no reels, no curated captions—just me, my husband, and the humbling experience of exploring a culture vastly different from our own. That break was a blessing, and a revelation.

Art is often celebrated as a beacon of light—a healer, a form of therapy, a way to express the inexpressible. For many artists, including myself, creating is not just a passion but a lifeline. It’s where I find clarity, peace, and purpose. But behind the vibrant brushstrokes and curated Instagram grids lies a quieter, more complex reality: the dark side of making art.

There’s a quiet rebellion in leaving a painting unfinished.