From the HeART: The Making of "Broken"

I've always believed that all art is intuitive to some degree. The creative spirit flows through us, sometimes with clear intention and other times as an unseen force nudging us toward something we don’t yet understand. But until last summer, I had never truly experienced what it meant to create a piece  from an unknown place, where the process felt less like a choice and more like an undeniable compulsion. This is the story of Broken, my first true experience with intuitive art.

It started in early July. I had planned to begin working on Seattle Club, a piece I had been mentally composing for months, something deliberate and structured. But as soon as I stepped into my studio, I felt an inexplicable pull to create something else. Something I couldn’t yet see. I didn’t have a vision, no color palette, no materials laid out — just an overwhelming need to begin. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t planned. It just was. This was completely new for me. Because normally I take my time to develop an idea before I start a piece. But this time, it was as if my hands already knew what they needed to do, even if my mind hadn’t caught up. I worked in layers, letting textures emerge, allowing intuition to guide every brushstroke, every material choice. At the time, it was just creation without explanation, an act of trust in something bigger than myself.

The piece grew organically—thick layers of paint and texture giving depth, crackled surfaces symbolizing age and transformation, metallic pigments catching the light. In the center, a heart, hand- formed from paper clay, was painted in rich metallic hues, sealed with resin to create a luminous, almost ethereal glow. It rested inside a framed box, positioned over a background filled with encaustic wax, aged paper, and ephemera—details that felt right even though I wasn’t sure why I was placing them there.

And then, I added a word. The final touch, something that felt like it would complete the piece. As I stood in front of it, BROKEN came to mind. I stenciled it across the textured background without hesitation, feeling an immediate sense of completion. I didn’t question it. The piece was done. I had created something deeply personal without understanding its meaning, but I felt at peace with that.

I displayed BROKEN at a show in August, proud of what I had made but still uncertain about its story. When people asked about its inspiration, all I could say was, “I don’t know why I made this -  just know I had to.” That was the truth. At the time, its purpose remained unknown to me.

On the last day of that show, in the middle of packing up my booth, I received a call from my dad. My mom’s health had declined suddenly, and he needed me to come home. My mom had told me months before that she was ready -  to find peace, ready to let go. And while I had accepted that, nothing prepares you for the moment when you realize goodbye is truly happening.

I spent the next days with her, holding onto moments, repeating conversations we had already shared but now with a finality that felt impossible to bear. My brother flew in, and we surrounded her with love until she passed on August 25th, a day filled with sunlight—exactly the kind of day she loved. That night, when I returned home, BROKEN was sitting in my living room, leaning against the couch where I had left it after the show. And suddenly, I understood.

This piece had been preparing me for this moment. The word BROKEN, the beautiful heart at its center, the layers upon layers representing the depth of love, loss, and resilience, it was all there. My subconscious, my creative intuition, the divine, whatever you want to call it, had guided me to make this piece before I even knew why I needed it.

Art is more than something we make. It is something that makes us. BROKEN showed me that sometimes, creativity knows more than we do. It reminded me that intuition is a language all its own, and that listening to it can lead us to places we need to go, even if we don’t understand the destination during the process. As artists, we often feel the need to define, explain, or analyze our work. But sometimes, the meaning isn’t for us to decide in the moment. Sometimes, our hands move before our heart can fully process what is happening. BROKEN is a testament to that—a message from my own soul that I hadn’t yet been ready to receive.

And now, I see it for what it is: a tribute to love, loss, and the unbreakable bonds that remain even when someone is gone.