24” x 36” 3-Dimensional Oil
The memory came later—of helping my grandma hang clothes on the line on a breezy spring day. The way the fabric danced in the wind, catching light as it swayed… it all came rushing back once the painting was already on the canvas.
But somewhere along the way, it also became about something more: the people in our lives who show up when things feel heavy. The ones who offer a hand, a hug, a truth we might not want to hear but need. Like shirts on a line, we air things out—let them catch light and fresh air, then pull them in when they're ready.
There’s a softness here—pastels and sky tones with just enough texture to show the weight and lift of being known, supported, and loved. A quiet celebration of the kind of hope that shows up in conversations, in vulnerability, in letting someone help hold what you can’t carry alone.
24” x 36” 3-Dimensional Oil
The memory came later—of helping my grandma hang clothes on the line on a breezy spring day. The way the fabric danced in the wind, catching light as it swayed… it all came rushing back once the painting was already on the canvas.
But somewhere along the way, it also became about something more: the people in our lives who show up when things feel heavy. The ones who offer a hand, a hug, a truth we might not want to hear but need. Like shirts on a line, we air things out—let them catch light and fresh air, then pull them in when they're ready.
There’s a softness here—pastels and sky tones with just enough texture to show the weight and lift of being known, supported, and loved. A quiet celebration of the kind of hope that shows up in conversations, in vulnerability, in letting someone help hold what you can’t carry alone.
