Artist Bio
Art to me has always been about emotion - it is about making you remember and feel. Some of the deepest feelings I’ve ever known have come from the animals in life. It started when I was young, with my horse, this soul-level connection that I still struggle to put into words today. Losing him so early left a mark on me, even though I didn’t fully understand it at the time.
When I went to art school for my BFA, so much of my work drifted back to horses. They became the way I expressed the things I didn’t know how to say out loud. I learned a lot in school, but honestly, art has always felt like something woven into my soul — a gift from my mom, who encouraged it from the time I was a kid right through until now. My parents are probably one of my biggest supporters when it comes to my art. They never questioned me when I said, “I’m going to school for art.” They only encouraged and supported it.
After finishing my degree, interning at Maine Media Workshops, and working in a fine art gallery, I knew I wanted art at the center of my life, but I struggled with figuring out how to live and make that happen. Making a living as an artist felt nearly impossible. I ended up leaving the country in my young twenties for love, stepping off a plane in Uruguay with just one bag, my easel, and my paints. After more traveling, more heartbreak, and trying to figure out where I was supposed to land, I realized I needed stability. That search brought me back to New York, and eventually to grad school for a Master’s in Fitness and Wellness — another passion of mine. Slowly, my path in fitness took over, and art slipped so far into the background that it really wasn't even part of my identity anymore.
Then, in 2020, almost a decade later, I lost my soul dog (pictured here). Her passing broke me completely open. The most heart-wrenching experience of my life yet. For a long time, I felt like I was walking through life without any color in it. But that loss also lit something inside me that had been missing for a long time. It was when I was left with two unfinished paintings of her that I found myself thinking about my art again. A heavy, quiet, isolated year passed, and then my first goofy dog Zelda came into my life full of vibrant colors and a year after followed Moku equally vibrant in his own colorful ways. It is then, with them, I started to see the world as a painting again, full of color and movement. I started to want to capture them and paint them the way I wished I had painted Maggi and this is what ultimately brought me back to my easel again… and as I look back over it all, to myself.
Shortly after getting Moku, I got really sick with COVID and then dealt with long COVID for three long years - this took away so much of who I thought I was - an athlete, a triathlete, a person who spent her days being physically active - running up mountains, biking for 100 plus miles. An identity I had solely wrapped myself up in that when it was gone, I didn't know who I was anymore. I went from running Ironmans and training for hours, feeling so physically alive, to not being able to do any of it anymore, almost overnight. I felt like I had lost a version of myself, maybe even my whole self. I spent three years mourning not only the loss of my dog but also the loss of myself. And yet - somehow, through all of that loss and grief, my two dogs were able to show me laughter, light, and color again, they led me back to my art, and my paints and artistic soul found its way to me. Art and Zelda, and Moku have helped me heal and find myself, a person who is more than just one thing, and the ability to let go of having an identity wrapped up in that one thing.
Once I started painting, I realized how much I needed it — and how everything I’d been through, as hard as it was, had led me right back to the part of me I’d been missing for years.
Every piece I create, especially commissions, helps me grow as a person and as an artist. Honestly, I think I’ve fallen more in love with painting for others — learning what means the most to someone and giving them a way to hold onto it forever. There’s something incredibly special about that.
Looking back now, the long, winding path that brought me here finally makes sense. In its own strange way, it feels like this is exactly how it was meant to unfold.
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I can’t wait to hear from and start painting for you