My Story
My story...
THE BEAUTY WAS ALWAYS THERE
There is a flowering weed pushing through a crack in the concrete near where I live. Most people walk past it without seeing it. I notice it every time. That's not a gift I was born with. It's something I had to find my way back to.
For a long time, I wasn't looking. I was busy. Raising children, showing up for the people who needed me, being who I was supposed to be. I was happy to do it. I want to say that clearly, because this isn't a story about regret. But somewhere in the middle of all of it, I put something down. I set it aside quietly, the way you do when something feels like a luxury you can't afford. And I walked away from it.
Twenty five years. The thing I put down was art. But really, it was myself.
I know you might recognise this feeling...
BEING TRULY SEEN
Not necessarily art. Maybe it's something else you set down a long time ago. Maybe you can't even name it anymore. Maybe it's just a nagging sense that something is missing. That you've been giving everything to everyone and somewhere along the way, you lost the thread back to yourself.
That feeling is real. And you're not going mad. I know, because I felt it too. For years it was just there in my body, before my mind caught up. A weight. Something I couldn't put my finger on. Fear does that. It keeps you in a safe place, and that place feels so reasonable that you start to believe in it. You don't realise what you're capable of until you push past it.
And then one day, a crow landed on my head...
THE MOMENT EVERYTHING CHANGED
I know how that sounds. But it happened. I'd been having conversations with people who had no stake in my situation, with anyone who would listen, trying to understand whether what I was feeling was true or whether I was losing my mind.
The crow didn't answer that question. But it confirmed something my body had already been saying for a long time: that I couldn't go back. The time had come. No matter what it cost, no matter how frightening it looked, staying wasn't an option anymore.
Not a disaster. A release.
I was forty-one years old in that story. I'm not telling you this because our stories are the same. I'm telling you because I need you to hear it. It is not too late. Whatever you put down, however long ago, it is still yours. The dream didn't leave. It waited.
My paintings are that waiting...
THESE ARE NOT DECORATIVE OBJECTS
Every piece I make comes from something I saw, or felt, or lived through. The crow built from old maps. The girl in the pretty dress up the willow tree. The dragonfly almost missed. These aren't decorative objects. They're moments.
I paint them because I believe that beauty is everywhere, even when you've stopped looking. Even in the flowering weed through the concrete. Even in the hardest years.
When one of my pieces hangs on your wall...
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
I want it to say one thing to you, every time you look at it. Not as a comfort. As a truth.
Because I spent twenty five years living my life for other people. And I found my way back. And I made this painting. I am not so different from you.
The nagging feeling you've been carrying, the one you can't quite name, it isn't madness. It's a memory. It's the part of you that hasn't forgotten who you are.
The beauty is still there. So is your dream. It's okay to start looking again.
These are the pieces...
FIND YOURS
They're here when you're ready. The crow built from old maps. The girl up the willow tree. The dragonfly caught just before it disappeared. Each one came from a real moment. Each one is looking for somewhere to belong.
You'll know yours when you see it. That's how it always works.
The beauty is still there...
SO IS YOUR DREAM
It's okay to start looking again.
I'm glad you're here.
Andrea x