I kept working, even when the work found no buyers. Not because it was easy, and not because anyone was waiting for it. I stayed because walking away would have meant giving up on the part of me that still believed.


There is always a voice that asks us to choose the life that makes sense. The safer path. The explainable one. The one that fits neatly into other people’s expectations. And then there is the quieter voice—the one that asks us to keep going, even through the years when nothing seems to happen.


The woman is that struggle given a body. She represents the part of me that kept showing up, aging through uncertainty, unfinished days, rejection, and doubt, yet still placing her hands on the work.


The face behind her represents the judgment that follows us—the fear of failing, of being misunderstood, of never becoming what we imagined. The red mark carries the desire to be seen, but also the courage to keep creating when being seen means risking failure.


The torn line is the uncertainty I live inside.

Two souls in one breast. One reaching for certainty. The other refusing to surrender the dream.


I am the hands.

She is persistence made visible—the part of me that kept creating when there was no guarantee it would matter.

And sometimes, the most important thing an artist can create is not the work itself, but the courage to keep making it.