About me
Before the paint, before the brush—there was a girl who played it safe.
I grew up believing that being good meant staying small, saying yes, and never making waves. That being loved meant pleasing others. I followed the rules. I got the grades. I put everyone else first. And for a long time, that life looked fine from the outside. I had a family I adored, a home in sunny Italy, and a beautiful life with my husband and children.
But beneath the surface, something ached. I was creating, but not fully alive. I was surrounded by light, yet something inside me felt dimmed.
Then came the call I never wanted: my sister Sam was ill. Cancer. We were close—soul-close. She was only 43 when she died.
Before she passed, she said something I can never forget:
"I feel like I'm dying without ever having lived my truth. I was too scared. I always did what was expected."
Her words pierced me. They cracked something open. I saw my own reflection in her regret.
That was my call to adventure.
At first, I resisted. I told myself I was fine. That my art could stay safe. That maybe I could keep pleasing the world and still honour her somehow.
But the ache grew louder. And the canvas became my mirror.
I began to paint differently. Boldly. Truthfully. I returned to the female form—not as an object, but as a force. A presence. A truth.
Each figure I painted was a reclamation. A shedding. A voice. I painted what I had been too afraid to say: I want to be free.
Liberation became my mentor. Shame became my brush.
Through every curve and contour, I faced my own shadows. My own body stories. My own grief. And slowly, I crossed the threshold into a different kind of life—one led by truth, not approval. One fuelled by presence, not perfection.
Art became not just something I made, but something that remade me.
In many ways, this was the beginning of my liberation—not just as an artist, but as a person. Years earlier, while studying Philosophy at university, I came across a line from Wittgenstein that lodged itself in me: “Our goal is to break the thrall in which certain forms of expression hold us.” I didn’t fully understand it then, but it stayed with me. I had grown up inside systems—cultural, familial, social—that shaped what I was meant to believe and how I was meant to behave. That quote cracked open a quiet question: What if I didn’t agree? What if I chose something else?
I see now that my art became that “something else.” A space to unlearn. To feel. To find my way back to what was always mine.
Since then, my work has found homes around the world. But more than that, it's found resonance. Women tell me they see themselves in my lines. That they feel seen. Understood. Celebrated.
And that is the greatest reward: to know my sister's truth didn't end with her. It lives on in every piece I create.
This is not just about art.
This is about coming home to yourself.
To your body.
To your voice.
To your wild.
Welcome to my world—where we paint not to please, but to feel. Not to fit in, but to rise.
Where the nude is sacred.
Where freedom is form.
This is my offering.
This is art that remembers who you are—before the expectations, before the conditioning. It’s art that invites you to break the patterns you never chose, and to return to a truth that was always yours.
May it lead you back to yours.
🎧 Featured Podcast Interview
The story behind the sensuality
I was honoured to speak with Brad from the Empowerography Podcast about what inspires my work, the emotional and spiritual layers behind each piece, and the journey that led me here.
