Chapter 1: High Frequencies & Heavy Hands – The Space Before the Canvas

9/5/2026

Artwork, for me, doesn't happen in a pristine, sun-drenched studio with rainbow suncatchers and thriving jungle plants. I don’t wear a cute “artist outfit,” and my hair is definitely not styled to social media perfection.

In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

I wake up strangled by my own long hair, wrestling it into what can only be described as a sad bun. Dressed in an oversized tee and pajama pants, I emerge looking like a disgruntled werewolf crawling out of my den. My body is sore from sleeping with two Queensland Heelers, which forces you into the worst, and most unnatural yoga poses imaginable. I shuffle out to make coffee and then magically retreat into my studio for the day. Once I slip into that flow state of creativity and magic, food and bathroom breaks cease to exist.

My room is small, and the furniture aggressively hogging the walls doesn't help. Amazon boxes hold my inventory because my closet is a total disaster. My windows face away from the sun, so my suncatcher is catching… literally nothing. And while my walls are white, I live in Arizona—land of severe dust storms and haboobs—so… you do the math lol. My actual art desk is just a foldable picnic table that barely fits inside my small closet space.

Yet, in all seriousness, this studio is my sanctuary—a place to leave the outside world at the door. When it’s time to paint (usually late Friday night after my 8-to-5 job, or over the weekend), the energy in the room completely shifts.

I will first, fire up my tablet or phone to set the mood. Music isn't just background noise; it’s a conductor for my energy. When I was 16 and first learning how to work with Photoshop, I’d spend 10 hours straight making digital art. My internal world was chaotic back then, trying to figure my best outlet to process my emotions, and heavy metal was my outlet to transmute anger and frustration into something beautiful. (I still love heavy metal and hard rock, by the way—I blame my uncle, but that genre just spoke to me.)

Twenty years later, music is still my conductor, but the frequency has changed. I still crank heavy metal, but I’m no longer creating from a place of angst. Instead, I use those heavy rhythms to channel pure love, joy, and deep passion directly into the canvas.

For hours, I completely lose myself. There’s nothing quite like using your bare hands to push that raw, loving energy onto a blank surface and watch a piece come alive. Every single artwork carries that exact pulse—forged in heavy sound, deep passion, and pure creation.