For over thirty years, I poured my heart into doing hair. I loved my clients, the conversations, the creativity - but eventually, my body started whispering things I could no longer ignore.  Pain, stomach issues, and AS flare-ups led to cancelled appointments, and the stress & anxiety of disappointing clients began to take over.  I was home more often, and the quiet slowly turned into anxiety & depression.

One day, I picked up a paintbrush. No plan. No direction.  No formal training.  Just color, texture, movement, and a way to breathe again.  

​I kept painting. Not for anyone- but for my own mental peace.

​Then something unexpected happened. 

​Clients who came to my home began noticing the pieces hanging oddly on the wall or resting against things here & there.  They made gentle comments.  Encouraging ones.  The kind that make you pause & see yourself a little differently.

​A friend encouraged me to enter an art show. I was unsure at first, but I submitted five pieces anyway.  Four of them made it into the show- and one even won a sweet 2nd place. 

​That moment shifted something in me. 

​It became the beginning of people- clients, friends, strangers- becoming part of my journey in a new way.  They saw something in my artwork before I fully did.  And slowly, painting became more than coping.  It became connection, healing, purpose. 

​Today, imperfectly perfect is my reminder that we don't break & rebuild once.  We evolve, shift, soften, restart, and bloom in unexpected places. 

​My art is for anyone who has felt overwhelmed, held together by hope, or found beauty in the middle of brokenness. It's for the honest, caring, loving souls who also need healing love through art.  

​This is my journey - imperfect, evolving, and exactly where I'm meant to be.