Something about that newborn phase, up until around five months old, made me feel like my son was an alien. Maybe it's my sleep deprivation, his underdeveloped vision, limited communication, innate reflexes, or just the profound bond and hormonal changes in me—I can't quite understand what my newborn son was thinking or feeling, making him seem almost alien and sacred. There was one moment when he just gazed at the lamp light for such a long time, with a face that I associated with something sacred. This was a watercolor portrait to capture his sacredness, with the exact reference photo being this moment of his sacred gaze.

I said 'Sorry, Kai.' He looked at me curious, surprised, but so concerned. It caught me off guard when he said 'Why, what’s wrong?' He's never put words together like that before. It just caught me of guard to realize how much hes grown and capable with understanding feelings.

Inspired by a conversation with a dear friend, Joy, I embark on a journey to revisit a long-held painting project. Join me as I explore the symbolism of 'Ophelia' and reflect on the profound questions it evokes about loss, grief, and the human experience.

fter my son was born, I struggled with the realization that I couldn't protect him from life's hardships. My artwork reflected these fears, showing his innocence against a dark background. This symbolized the balance of light and darkness in life. Art helps me embrace vulnerability and find beauty in the journey of parenthood.

Today marks my first blog post, where I share why I painted cairns. It wasn’t just for beauty; it was to push through a creative block.

Many artists hit this wall and stop, but I chose to paint something simple and familiar. As I persevered, my work transformed, and I created a piece I’m proud of. The lesson? Embrace discomfort and use it to explore new possibilities. This applies to life too. Keep creating and exploring, and remember, feeling lost can lead to amazing and beautiful outcomes.