Emotion
in Color
My work begins in silence — before language, before story. I paint to express what can't be said: to give form and color to the unseen emotional and energetic currents that shape our lives.
As a psychotherapist and Reiki master, I have spent decades listening to what lies beneath words — trauma, resilience, memory, desire, the pulse of the soul. My abstract paintings grow from that same space of deep listening. Working in layers of vibrant acrylics, I build texture, contrast, and movement to reflect the complexity of human experience.
Each painting is both personal and collective. In creating, I feel connected to something older than myself — an echo of ancient peoples who made art to make meaning. When I stood before the weathered walls of Italy, I recognized something familiar: marks made by human hands, worn by time, still speaking. I believe that when we create and witness art, we tap into that shared consciousness — a sacred thread running through time, connecting us to our ancestors and to one another.
Painting became part of my healing in 2024, during recovery from two knee surgeries. It offered me not just a new way to play, but a powerful new way to speak — through color, form, and energy. My art invites viewers into that space of reflection and recognition, where soul speaks to soul without the need for words.
A life fully lived — sideways,
and right when I needed it most.
For years, my hands were shaped by clay. I threw and handbuilt pots at studios in Michigan, Connecticut, and New York, and what I loved most wasn't the artistry — it was the utility. I still drink my morning coffee from a mug I made. There's something grounding about that, about holding something you built with your own hands and using it every single day.
Then came 2024. Two knee surgeries, a lot of stillness, and somewhere in that forced pause, a palette knife. I haven't put it down since.
What surprised me was how natural it felt — not as a departure from my work as a therapist, but as an extension of it. I've spent my career sitting with people in the wordless places: grief, desire, healing, the unnamed things. Painting turned out to be another way into those same spaces, just without the talking.
I work mostly in acrylics, layering and scraping and building until something true shows up. The studio is chaotic — paint everywhere, canvases stacked in racks, work spread across every surface — and I love it. It feels alive.
The walls were
what called to me.
In January 2026, I traveled to Italy with a specific mission: to see and photograph the ancient walls. And I did. I suspect a few fellow tourists wondered about the woman crouched over a patch of peeling plaster while the Colosseum loomed behind her — but the walls were what called to me.
The layering. The erosion. The places where two thousand years of weather and human hands had made something that looked, unmistakably, like abstract painting.
I understood something standing there: layering isn't just a technique. It's what time does to everything that matters.
Licensed Clinical Social Worker & Sex Therapist · Connecticut, Michigan & New York
Reiki Master · Student, Nicholas Wilton's Creative Visionary Program
Exhibited at The Carriage Barn Arts Center, New Canaan, CT