In every place I lived, I turned to art as a survival tool, helping me move through childhood trauma, loneliness, and the feeling of being disconnected from the world around me. When I moved to Kodiak, Alaska, after my husband was stationed here with the Coast Guard, it was no different. I was afraid. Afraid of isolation, afraid of what the move might take from my children, afraid of losing myself. I struggled with feeling isolated and disconnected from family. Art was a path to brighten my world. I have always taken art serious in the sense that I would keep creating in each season. I prayed, asking God to fill my cup without letting the season break me. What I found instead was abundance. Kodiak’s wild beauty, paired with deep personal growth, transformed both my life and my art.

Motherhood changed everything. In those early years, my art became quieter and more inward. As a first time mom I created little drawings in a sketch book which revolutionized my ability to experience the high-highs and low-lows of my mothering experience. Becoming a mother absolutely changed my art practice. I drew and painted privately, often just for myself. For the first time, art wasn’t about being seen, it was about understanding myself. My children now live in nearly every painting I create, sometimes visibly and sometimes in spirit, teaching me patience, forgiveness, and tenderness on my healing journey. Today, my work is rooted in a childlike heart. When I paint, I return to that place of wonder, like feeling the warmth of the sun, watching the moon in the quiet of night, noticing the subtle color shifts on animals and landscapes. I pour both joy and pain into my work, one brushstroke at a time, allowing complexity and beauty to exist together. 

My parents business only financially took off after I had moved out, so money was a big stressor. I made the conscious choice to block ideas that being an artist would financially limit me. Faith has always been woven into my life. When people would say, “You’re going to be a starving artist,” I would respond with confidence rooted in my belief in Jesus - that creativity was not a financial limitation, but a gift. Even as a child, I believed there was something sacred about making, about beauty, and about trusting God with my path.   

I was raised on a farm and homeschooled, which meant my siblings and I spent countless hours immersed in nature and imagination. I remember catching tadpoles barefoot in icy creeks, picking wild strawberries in the summer, and studying insects I lovingly called “God’s creatures.” I’d protect them with my life! Nature was a place of peace, safety, and awe for me, and it continues to shape the way I see color, movement, and life.

As I grew older, art became less about praise and more about survival. Through change, loneliness, and emotional complexity of my childhood, painting helped me process what I couldn’t always put into words. Each place I lived brought new layers to my work, and art became a steady companion through seasons of transition.