The Art of Coming Home

Sometimes the path back to joy looks like a paintbrush, a quiet moment, and the courage to begin again.

I’ve had many people approach me lately—friends who haven’t seen me in person for quite some time—who exclaim, “I had NO IDEA you could paint like that!” They’ve come across my work on Instagram or Facebook, or through a friend who shared it with them. I smile and say, “I’m simply coming back to my first creative love.”

And truly, it’s taken me a long time to get back here.

I started out well enough. When I was younger, I would color on everything—coloring books, desks, walls, even my bedsheets. In my young mind, the world needed color, and I was here for it! (Well… until my dad spanked me thoroughly for coloring alllll over his newly refinished desk. 😉)

But even then, I was falling in love with the process of creating something from my own hands and imagination. That passion stayed with me through elementary school. I won my first art contest with a watercolor painting of butterflies I had found catalogued in one of our encyclopedias. Summers here in Charleston are scorching hot, and I spent many hours poring over those big books, soaking up everything I could learn. Though I was new to watercolor, it intuitively made sense to me. I knew in my heart—I was meant to be an artist.

In middle school, I became obsessed with horses. My poor grandmother had to be the judge of every equine sketch I made, and to her credit, she patiently told me again and again, “The heads are too small.” And they were. I’d go back to the drawing board, determined to get it right, and after spending the whole summer trying, I finally did.

When I was in college a professor once told our drawing class that most children between the ages of 10–12 give up on art at this stage—the point where they want their drawings to look lifelike, and when that doesn’t come easily, many simply stop trying. Looking back on that season of my life I realize that creating art was like breathing to me, and I was determined not to give up.

In high school, after my sophomore year, I moved to Savannah to live with my dad and stepmom. Fortunately, I only needed two math credits to graduate—thank goodness! I loved math (especially algebra), but geometry? It ate my lunch. So I took additional art classes instead.

Professors from Savannah College of Art & Design (SCAD) came to visit our school and encouraged us to showcase our work for scholarship opportunities. I received an honorable mention. But when they asked me to tell the story behind one of my pieces, I froze. They saw my talent but were disappointed there wasn’t a deeper story behind the emotional watercolor I had created. I painted because it helped me express myself in ways that words simply couldn't. It was hard to express that thought at the time.

Less than a year later, my father passed away after a long illness. He was only 37 years old. A senior in high school, I was only 17. To say I was devastated would be an understatement. I turned to my art for comfort, trying to make sense of everything—but what I created was dark, devoid of light or life. Waves of grief crashed over me again and again. Somehow, I finished school that year, but I don’t remember my high school graduation—or much of anything from the year that followed his passing.

I applied to SCAD and was accepted. It was an up-and-coming private art school, practically in my own backyard. My stepmom used part of my dad’s insurance money to send me to school—she believed in my talent and knew my dad would have wanted me to go. It was a heavy gift. Knowing I could only attend because of my father’s passing gave great weight to my education. I was determined to do well.

I majored in graphic design because I didn’t believe I could make a sustainable living with my paintings. No one challenged that decision, so I pressed on. I hadn’t seriously touched a computer until my freshman year at SCAD! We were fortunate to be among the first classes with the brand-new Macintosh computers. Those four years would launch me into the business world as a designer.

I married after my junior year of college and had three beautiful children. I left my design career after a handful of years to stay home and homeschool our growing family. It was one of the best decisions of my life, but my dream of being an artist was pushed firmly to the backseat—until my two older children became teenagers.

I bought a used DSLR camera from a friend and was excited to master it. I committed to a 365 Project, capturing and editing one photo each day, then posting it to social media. I became a diligent student of light and composition. Before long, I started receiving requests for photoshoots. I launched a photography business and honed my skills in portrait and wedding photography.

Eventually, I became involved with a national media company—first as a Feature Family Photographer, then as a Publisher, working with 13 different publications across the Lowcountry.

Then COVID hit. And after 31 years of marriage… so did divorce.

During that painful, uncertain season, I turned to painting once again. I was battling anxiety, depression, and PTSD—but when I put brush to paper, my mind became quiet. I rediscovered that flow state—where time seems to disappear, and you are fully present in the moment. Worries and fears melted away as I painted. Little by little, joy returned. I was coming home to myself.

For me, art became a deep place of healing, peace, and worship.

In time, I remarried. The husband God has given me now—Byron—is my biggest encourager and cheerleader! He has championed my dream of being a full-time artist and pursuing God’s design for my life. 

The creative dreams we've tucked away can become beautiful offerings in the hands of God. It is an honor to partner with the Lord in my creative work, and my prayer is always that you feel His peace and presence when you see my paintings.

Each time someone chooses to bring one of my creations into their home, I am so deeply grateful. It is a tremendous blessing. Thank you for joining me on this amazing journey.

And dear friend—I pray you are encouraged to keep pursuing the things that make your heart come alive. It’s never too late to return to the creative passions God has placed within you. 💛