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Epitaph
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
The Red Cardinal
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
The Woman with a cat
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The girl with a pinwheel flower/Memories
Acrylic on 24 in. X 30 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
Dreams
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Illusion
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
Epitaph
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
The Red Cardinal
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
The Woman with a cat
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The girl with a pinwheel flower/Memories
Acrylic on 24 in. X 30 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
Dreams
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Illusion
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
Epitaph
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
The Red Cardinal
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
The Woman with a cat
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The girl with a pinwheel flower/Memories
Acrylic on 24 in. X 30 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
Dreams
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Illusion
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
Epitaph
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
The Red Cardinal
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
The Woman with a cat
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The girl with a pinwheel flower/Memories
Acrylic on 24 in. X 30 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
Dreams
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Illusion
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
Epitaph
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
Epitaph is a visual poem depicting a deep personal exploration of memory, solitude, and silent resilience. The protagonist emerges from an abstract landscape where water flows not beneath her feet, but through her hair—becoming a metaphor for time, grief, and remembrance. The paper boats that navigate her waters carry handwritten farewells, bearing the fragile messages we fold and release into the currents of loss.
The empty chair stands as a poignant absence—a symbol of someone once present, now gone. It also invites the viewer to sit, reflect, and contemplate their own stories of departure and continuity. The birds above signify movement and transition, a migration of spirit and thought. With a muted, earthy palette contrasted by flowing blue, this painting bridges the inner and outer worlds.
In this piece, I wanted to honor the spaces I hold for my parents who are no longer with me—not with sorrow alone, but with a gentle strength that transforms memory into meaning.
The Red Cardinal
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
In The Red Cardinal, I explore the quiet yet powerful connection between inner stillness and nature’s quiet messages. The serene figure, with her eyes closed and face composed, becomes a vessel of presence—a moment of introspection uninterrupted by the outside world. Atop her head rests a bright red cardinal, a striking symbol of spirit, resilience, and the gentle presence of the beyond.
The cardinal, vivid and full of life, contrasts with the soft, earth-toned palette of the woman’s face and the tranquil landscape. This suggests a moment of a visitation reminder that we are never alone, even in silence. In many cultures, cardinals are seen as messengers, often believed to be loved ones visiting from the other side, or symbols of guidance and clarity. Here, the bird becomes more than just a companion; it is a metaphor for awakening, trust, and communion with the unseen.
The simplicity of the composition is intentional. By stripping away distractions, I invite the viewer to pause—to inhabit the stillness and feel the emotional weight of that small, red presence. It is in these quiet moments that we often find our greatest clarity.
The Woman with a cat
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The Woman with a Cat is an intimate portrayal of quiet companionship and emotional depth shared without words. The woman’s calm, contemplative expression is mirrored by the poised presence of the cat beside her—a creature known for its intelligence, independence, and deep, piercing gaze. Their bond, though unspoken, is palpable and grounding.
In this work, I aimed to capture the essence of stillness—the way time seems to slow down in moments of gentle connection. The warm, autumnal background contrasts with the sharpness of the cat’s blue eyes and the deep earth tones of the woman’s face, creating a dialogue between vibrancy and serenity. The brushstrokes behind them speak to the ever-changing world, while the foreground remains still and certain.
This painting reflects a part of my own relationship with solitude and the comfort found in my two Siamese cats. It’s about trust, silent understanding, and how even in our quietest moments, we are never truly alone.
Through The Woman with a Cat, I invite viewers to consider their own quiet bonds—the beings, human or otherwise, who anchor us gently to the present.
The girl with a pinwheel flower/Memories
Acrylic on 24 in. X 30 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
In this painting, I wanted to capture a moment of stillness where memory, innocence, and longing quietly converge. The girl is both myself and every fragment of childhood that lingers within me—her gaze steady, yet filled with questions that words cannot carry. Between her lips rests a flower, delicate as breath, a pinwheel of purity that spins not with wind but with remembrance.
I grew up in a small sleepy British colonial town that revolved around steam engines. As kids we suckled pinwheel flowers, rode bicycles and many of my birthdays were spent in that small town. The trains rushing, bicycles abandoned, balloons floating into an unreachable sky are the fleeting symbols of time, carrying echoes of places and people who once defined my landscape. They blur into sepia tones, as though dissolving into the distance, yet they remain etched in the soul.
And still, she stands with the flower—rooted, present, alive. The lilies bloom beside her as if to remind me that amidst the impermanence of memory, there is also resilience, renewal, and quiet beauty.
The Girl with Pinwheel Flower is my meditation on time and identity—on how we are always moving forward, yet never without the whispers of the past. It is about carrying fragility as strength, and finding poetry in the spaces between what was, what is, and what continues to become.
Dreams
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Dreams is a painting where I allow my inner world to flow freely—where memory, longing, and imagination drift together like currents of an endless river. The blue figure, with eyes closed, is myself in a state of surrender, listening to the whispers of the subconscious.
The paper boats, fish, hummingbird, bicycle, and paper plane are fragments of my childhood, tokens of innocence and wonder that still float through me. They rise like symbols of freedom, nostalgia, and play—reminding me that even as life grows heavier, the soul continues to travel lightly in the landscape of dreams.
The houses, streets, and familiar corners of my past appear like islands—half-real, half-illusory—anchoring me to places I carry within. And yet, in this dreamscape, gravity loses meaning: tables float, birds glide, and the mind becomes infinite sky. I miss those afternoon and morning teas that I had with my mom and dad. I yearn to hear the tinkling of my dad’s cycle bell when he came home.
For me, Dreams is not just an escape, but a bridge between who I was, who I am, and who I long to become. It is a reminder that even when the world outside is chaotic, the inner world remains boundless, vibrant, and free.
Illusion
Acrylic on 18 in. X 24 in. X 1.5 in. wrapped canvas
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
In this painting, I trace the contours of my inner landscape, where memory and imagination blur into one horizon. The sea stretches like a mirror of the unknown, reflecting both longing and possibility. The woman, faceless yet present, is the self I carry within—the dreamer, the wanderer, the silent witness of life’s currents. Her glasses are tinted windows, filtering reality, reminding me that we never see the world untouched; we see it colored by our own histories, our hopes, and our hidden wounds.
The pinwheel, the kite, the butterfly, and the faint silhouette of the unicorn drift around her like fragments of childhood—symbols of play, wonder, and flight. They are not merely objects, but whispers of freedom, fragile reminders that innocence lingers even when time folds into maturity. The boat in the distance is both departure and arrival, holding the paradox of life’s journeys: we are always leaving, always arriving, yet never complete.
This work is not just about what is seen, but about what is felt when silence deepens—about the way dreams ride the winds of memory, about the way imagination insists on existing even when weighed down by reality. It is my attempt to paint the delicate balance between the grounded self and the self that longs to soar, between the finite world of form and the infinite space of becoming.
Through this piece, I confess: I am both the woman staring at the sea and the child chasing the kite in the sky. I am the butterfly in mid-flight, and the unicorn that exists only if one dares to believe.
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