Abstract painting in layered green, orange, and black with quote: “It doesn’t matter how many times you fail—you just keep trying.” A personal story of creative breakthrough, memory, and intuitive abstraction.

FIRST BREAKTHROUGH: IMAGINED GARDENS

Back in 2022, I had taken many short online classes and learned a lot of mixed media techniques, but I was still confused about what I really wanted to create. I stumbled upon another online course—this one longer and more structured—and decided to enroll. Here is what I learned.

At the time, I was still working primarily with acrylics and experimenting with mixed media materials. The work I was making felt closer to craft than fine art. And I had a desire to go deeper. I wanted to create work that reflected something essential about me and spoke to a broader audience. Well, I wanted to become a fine artist.

One day I came across an ad for Judy Woods’ STARTS course. I enrolled, and it turned out to be one of the most important decisions I made for my artistic path. Her approach encouraged play and intuition. She provided prompts and exercises that helped me loosen up and explore mark-making without needing a clear end in mind but still refine it in a way that could be turned into a fine art painting. It took me a while to get the hang of it but eventually, something clicked.

 

Abstract painting with layered greens, pinks, and yellows. Leaf-like shapes and textured marks suggest a dense, dreamlike garden. Mood is lush and quiet.
This is In My Garden, the painting that help me trust that could one day become an artist.

The first painting that I truly recognized as special and with meaning was In My Garden. When I finished it, I immediately thought of the summers I spent with my cousin in Rio de Janeiro. We lived in an apartment in the city, but during those summers, we stayed at my aunt's house, surrounded by her garden. That garden felt like paradise. It held a bunch of imagination and stories. When I looked at this painting, it gave me that same feeling.

Having succeeded once, I tried to replicate the same process to see if I could create other paintings that brought a similar emotional response in me. It took several attempts and many failures. But I think that's when I started to feel like an artist. It does not matter how many times you fail—you just keep trying until you get it again.

I kept working with the exercises and prompts. Over time, I began to notice that the work started to speak back to me more often. Even though the paintings were abstract, they reminded me of real gardens I had visited or imagined. I wasn’t consciously painting them, but somehow those memories surfaced anyway.

 

Images of one of the pools in Inhotim, MG, Brazil, Details of the Butterfly Sanctuary in Key West and birds eye view of NOMA
Fragments of places that shaped this series—Inhotim, a butterfly sanctuary in the Keys, and the sculpture garden in New Orleans. Not painted directly, but remembered differently

 

Garden Under the Sea reminded me of the Beatles' song "Octopus's Garden." There's no octopus in the painting, and no attempt to illustrate the song, but I imagined it could look like this. In another piece, a butterfly shape emerged and I remembered the butterfly sanctuary I had visited in the Florida Keys.

As I kept painting, more connections surfaced. Garden of Tranquility made me think of the sculpture pools at Inhotim. Bridge Over the Sculpture Garden reminded me of the one in New Orleans. None of these references were planned. They just appeared, and I noticed them. It made me realize that we experience the world in more ways than we can articulate—not just visually or analytically, but emotionally. Those impressions live inside us, and when we make space, they come forward.

Some of the paintings from that course moved beyond gardens but still connects with them. Flowers for a Queen’s Funeral came to life while I was watching Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral. I wasn’t trying to paint it, but I saw a woman gathering flowers for a vase and I felt it interesting. For other works, I imagined the kinds of creatures that might live in these internal gardens.

 

ASide-by-side image. On the left: a photograph of Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral procession, with soldiers in uniform and rows of Union Jack flags lining the street. On the right: an abstract painting titled Flowers for a Queen’s Funeral featuring soft whites, golds, and dark contrasts, suggesting a floral arrangement in a vase and a abtracted woman silhouette.
I was just painting while the funeral played in the background. I wasn’t thinking about it, but somehow this image of someone arranging flowers showed up. Do you see it too?

 

This experience showed me that I had something to say through painting and I curated all these works into a single collection and titled it Imagined Gardens. They’re reinvented versions of places I’ve been, dreamt about, or wish I could return to. They reflect not just the spaces themselves, but how I experienced them. They were grown out of the emotional landscape I carry. Some of the original paintings from this collection are no longer available, but you can view the full collection here. I may offer prints or cards in the future. If that interests you, keep an eye out.

I know not everyone will see what I see in these paintings. That’s part of what I love about abstraction. People bring their own experiences and narratives to the work, and this is absolutely fantastic. I love that the images are just a spark of emotions that connect to the viewer's story and create an open-ended space for emotions to flourish.

That was the beginning of how I found my voice. I still have a long road ahead of me, and I am happy to get on that.

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