I go out looking for something magical — camera in hand, practically glued to my eye — my husband says, because I get really into searching for the reference that stops me completely. I take hundreds of photos hoping to capture that one moment that has it. That visceral gut feeling. The "wow" that makes my brain say — I have to paint this.

When I find it I fall in love. I can't stop staring at it. I am pulled in, in awe. It could be the composition, the color, the language of the flower itself, the shapes, the lighting — or all of it at once.

If it doesn't have that magic, I won't even consider it — because then, I am not interested.

That's where every painting or drawing begins. Not at the easel. Not with the brush. But with my imagination and that moment of recognition — when something reveals itself completely and I can't look away. I am so drawn in, I can stare for hours.

Once I find it, the subject itself tells me what medium to use. I don't decide — it does, I couldn't. I plan carefully, grid it out, do a watercolor study to solve color and anticipate any challenges. I tone every canvas a warm yellow or complementary color. I build in layers — loose at first, tightening with each pass, pushing color further than most would dare.

My work is extremely vibrant. Always. I push color naturally, without overthinking it. Texture runs through everything — my years of drawing before I ever picked up a brush live in every mark I make. There is a part of me that is mark making in an abstract way, guided by my intuition and what I like to think is the universe working through me, guiding me.

I call my style impressionistic illustrations. Part impressionist, part illustrator, all raw feelings.

And if I hit an unexpected challenge — I bring it into Procreate, test my options, then go back in.

Every painting is a problem I fall in love with before I solve it.