I’ve always been a creator—whether through drawing, self-portraits, or writing. My recent series, using my body as a paintbrush, was inspired by Yves Klein’s Anthropometries (1960). While I admired the concept, I wanted full agency: model, artist, and director. My work explores body image, gender, and the fluid relationship between my internal and external self.
Graduate school for art history deepened my connection to women artists who used their bodies in art—Carolee Schneemann, Ana Mendieta, and Brigid Berlin. Their work, radical and unapologetic, made me acutely aware of how often women artists have been sidelined. That realization fueled my mission: to illuminate their contributions and ensure their legacies endure. My work now integrates research and pays homage to feminist icons like Judy Chicago, May Stevens, and Mary Beth Edelson, whose voices still demand to be heard.
I first pursued fashion design in college but pivoted to drawing for its raw, expressive potential. As I moved through arts journalism and curating, I witnessed how women and minority artists were continually excluded from major conversations. That exclusion ignited my dedication to amplifying these voices—whether through writing, curating, or my own artwork. I love connecting artists with collectors and curators, writing critical reviews, and curating exhibitions that challenge societal norms. My practice acknowledges the feminist lineage of art, from abstract expressive pieces to the playful, defiant body prints I call the breast zoo. My work is in three public collections, and I’ve completed numerous commissions. Collaboration is vital to me—I’ve illustrated two award-winning poetry books, with another on the way. At the core of everything I do is a belief: art should be accessible, and women artists should receive the recognition they have long deserved.
Looking back, I wish I had been exposed to more women artists earlier. In my formative years, they were nearly invisible in art history textbooks. A professor even told me I couldn’t be both an artist and a mother—a comment that caused me to step away from creating for a time. My perspective felt insignificant until I began writing art reviews and interviewing artists, gradually realizing how few exhibitions featured women. Motherhood eventually reignited my creativity, but I still battled self-doubt. It was artist Wanda Ewing who encouraged me to create, even if no one saw it. Diving into feminist art history—reading Linda Nochlin’s Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?, researching, and interviewing artists—validated everything I had felt for years. Change is slow, but it’s happening. And I’m proud to be part of that shift.
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