I create to escape, to heal, and to give life to the worlds I once needed—but couldn’t find.
I grew up in a home marked by violence, instability, and a deep sense of not belonging. My parents came from two vastly different cultures—Polynesian and German—and while each side gave me something beautiful, sadly they also left wounds. One gave me pride and softness, but also silence and shame. The other gave me language and structure, but also emotional coldness and trauma. I was caught in between—too brown to be embraced in white spaces, too disconnected to fully belong in brown ones. That feeling of disconnection haunted me—but it also sparked my imagination.
As a child, I survived by retreating inward. When the world around me was harsh, I escaped into quiet daydreams—places where I was seen, loved, and powerful. When I couldn’t speak, sing, or dance without ridicule, I imagined a version of myself who could. That inner world became my safe place. Over time, that escape became my art. Today, I paint what I once longed to see: strong, dark-skinned, exotic women in majestic, natural settings. They are mothers, warriors, goddesses, and dreamers. They are both otherworldly and deeply human. They represent not only who I needed to become—but who others may need to see, too. Because my art isn’t just for me anymore. It’s for anyone who’s ever felt too much, too little, or not enough. For those who grew up in the in-between spaces—between cultures, between languages, between identities. My paintings are a mirror for those still searching for themselves.
They offer a sense of belonging, validation, and beauty—especially for women of color who rarely see themselves portrayed with softness, power, and majesty. Through every brushstroke, I celebrate what makes us different. I don’t paint culture to confine—it’s something I elevate and honor. I mix cultural elements with fantasy because I believe in a world where diversity is divine. I use oil paint because it carries weight, legacy, and timelessness—just like the stories I’m telling. It’s a way of honoring traditions while creating something new, something sacred, something lasting. I include animals, natural symbols, and surreal elements because I still believe in dreaming. These details hint at what life could be, should be, and what it one day will be—especially when I think about the paradise Jehovah God promises. To me, art is a taste of that hope. It gives people a glimpse of peace, of freedom, of emotional safety—even if just for a moment.
Ultimately, my art is my form of resistance and restoration. It’s how I reclaim beauty in a world that tried to erase it. It’s my gift to others who are healing from similar wounds. Whether you’re a woman reclaiming your worth, a mixed-race person searching for identity, or someone longing to see your culture reflected in fine art—my work exists to hold space for you. I paint not just to express my story, but to lift others up through it. I want people to feel awe, strength, softness, and recognition. I want someone to look at my work and say, “That’s me. I exist. I matter.” Because I didn’t feel beautiful growing up. I didn’t feel worthy. But when I paint, I create a world where I am both—and so are you.