Becoming the Artist I Needed
A Story of Grit, Ink, and Reinvention There’s a strange kind of magic in choosing yourself. Not the soft, romantic kind, the gritty, stubborn, quietly defiant kind. The kind that grows in the cracks after life has tried to split you open. That’s the magic that shaped me, and it’s the magic that fuels ‘’ Till Death Us Do Art’’. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to become an artist. I became one slowly, through a thousand tiny rebellions: picking up a brush when I was exhausted, filming a process video when I doubted anyone cared, sketching ideas on scraps of paper between responsibilities. Art wasn’t a hobby. It was a lifeline, a way to carve out a space in the world that felt like mine. The Gothic Thread That Pulled Me In I’ve always been drawn to the darker side of beauty, the places where shadows soften into elegance, where decay becomes texture, where the macabre feels strangely comforting. It wasn’t a phase. It was a language. And once I realised I could speak it f...