Owning It: Becoming The Artist I Already Was
There’s something surreal about looking up and realizing you’ve stepped into a version of your life you used to only imagine. And not just imagined—but worked toward, quietly and consistently, in all the invisible hours no one saw.
Yesterday, someone helped me connect a few dots I hadn’t fully lined up myself.
Next week, I’ll unlock the door to my new art studio at Juxtahub in Emmaus, PA. It’s the first time I’ll be working in a professional studio space—outside of my basement, outside of the house, outside of the tucked-away corners where I’ve created for years. It’s a shift that’s both logistical and deeply emotional.
For so long, my basement was where the work happened. It was quiet, solitary, and mine—those daytime hours between 11 and 3 when the world felt a little bit on pause. I painted alone, just me and the canvas, figuring things out in silence. It was where I let things fall apart and come together. Where the mess was mine, the process private, the voice still learning to speak up. It was sacred in its own way.
But now, I’m stepping into a space that reflects who I am becoming—not just who I’ve been. A space that says: I take this seriously. I believe in the value of what I create. I’m ready to be seen.
Juxtahub is more than a building—it’s a community, a place where other creatives are also showing up and choosing their art, day after day. Being among them already feels like a new kind of creative fuel. It’s both an investment and an act of self-recognition.
I’ve also begun teaching more art classes (new ones coming in August and September!). Tomorrow, my podcast The Artist Is In officially launches—a space for honest, human conversations with fellow artists. I have two major shows this year—Life is Better at NoName Gallery, and my solo show Submerged at Anno Artem Gallery in July. I even sold two paintings this past weekend.
Each of these on their own is exciting. But together, they mark something deeper: I am stepping more fully into the truth that I am a professional artist.
Not aspiring.
Not trying.
Not waiting for permission.
Just—being.
And what’s wild is that nothing fundamentally changed overnight. These are the results of years of quiet persistence. Of painting through doubt. Of showing up when no one was watching. Of trusting my instincts even when they didn’t make sense to anyone else. Of learning to tell the difference between what I thought I should do and what I deeply needed to create.
There was a time I believed being a “professional artist” meant checking certain boxes—gallery representation, a certain number of sales, a polished website, a full teaching schedule. But now I see it differently.
It’s not about waiting until you’ve arrived at some external destination.
It’s about recognizing the inner shift when your art becomes more than a private practice—when it becomes your way of moving through the world. When you realize that everything you do—creating, teaching, talking, sharing—is part of the same creative ecosystem. It’s about letting your art live out loud.
This season feels like a crossing. A threshold. A moment where I stop questioning whether I belong in the room and start owning the fact that I’ve built the room.
And while it feels bigger than before, it also feels like a homecoming. Like I’m not becoming someone new, but finally stepping into the artist I’ve always been.
So here I am, owning it.
All of it.
The mess, the magic, the momentum.
And I’m so glad you’re here with me.
Stories to Remember, 30 × 30, mixed media on canvas
