Art Is How I Breathe.

There are days when words fail me. When the grief is too layered, too loud, too tangled to name. On those days, I turn to art, not because it fixes anything, but because it gives me breath. I read to remember softness. I write to make sense of the ache. I create digital art to trace what I can’t say out loud. But this blog, this space, is the most consistent art I do. It’s where I return, again and again, to speak the truth and survive it.

Art doesn’t ask me to be healed. It doesn’t rush me. It holds space for the mess, the ache, the beauty that lives inside brokenness. It lets me map what I can’t explain. Sometimes I write softness because I need it. Sometimes I write chaos because it’s all I know. Either way, it’s honest. And honesty, for me, is oxygen.

This is how I survive. Not by pretending I’m okay, but by creating something true. This blog is my breath when the world feels unlivable. It’s how I remember that even in grief, I am still a maker. Still a witness. Still alive.