Mother and child…

I’ve heard the sacred murmur of mothers —in their fatigue, in their beauty, in their love laced with loneliness. Their stories hold entire galaxies of longing and grace.

Mothers who fled, who stayed, who hoped, who rose again — and again.

Twelve years ago, I lost my own mother. She never met my son, but I feel her in every tender glance he gives me.

She once said: "You’ll understand when you become a mother." Back then, I brushed it off. I wasn’t sure I’d ever become one.

But life had a quiet plan. A year after she left, I became a mother. And my son became my lighthouse.

Stories All Mothers Carry

Through my son, I learned the stories all mothers carry —not just joy and love, but weariness, sorrow, surrender, and the strength to hold it all.

This work I create —this art, these layers, these offerings —they are for her. For every mother who has whispered her truth into the night. For every child who still hears it.

This work and layers of paints I dedicate to all mothers and children...to those I already know, to those I never met, to those I might meet in the future, to those who will certainly cross my path, to those who supported me and my child when I needed support, to those I learned from, to those I will never forget...