Why I closed my gallery

For years, I poured my heart into running a coastal art gallery. It was more than a job—it was a home for creativity, connection, and a way of life I loved deeply.

But life shifted.

Last year, I closed the doors to that chapter and moved halfway across the country—leaving behind the salty air, my regular collectors, and the light I’d learned to chase with every brushstroke.

At first, I felt lost.

The gallery had been such a big part of my identity. Without it, I wasn’t sure how to begin again. My studio sat quiet. I questioned everything—my direction, my work, even my voice as an artist.

Then, one day, I started painting again—just small works. No pressure. Just 30 little canvases over 30 days. Landscapes that reflected the places and moments I needed to process. Memories of Rhode Island’s coast. Visions from my family farm in Indiana.

And something shifted.

These little paintings became more than a creative exercise. They gave me a rhythm. A reason to show up. A way to feel connected again—to the land, to myself, and to those of you who’ve followed my work through all its evolutions.

They reminded me that beginnings don’t always look grand. Sometimes they’re small, steady acts of healing.

On June 10, I’ll be releasing this mini painting collection. Each one is a tiny love letter to the journey back to myself—and maybe, a piece of your own story too.