Meditation Series
I created the Meditations Series out of a need to slow down inside my own making.
For years, I worked the way most of us live: moving forward, producing, finishing, discarding. I noticed how often what remained on my studio floor felt more honest than what made it onto the wall. Scraps of archival paper. Imperfect surfaces. Leftover paint. The quiet evidence of effort.
I began to wonder what would happen if I stayed with those remnants instead of rushing past them.
“ For years, I worked the way most of us live: moving forward, producing, finishing, discarding.”
The series begins with what is already used.
I collect fragments of archival art paper from previous projects and repurpose them as my starting point. These surfaces carry memory: they hold decisions, revisions, hesitations. Onto them I pour salvaged and expired paint: from my own studio, from the Divinemoira Studio collective, from donations and found materials.
The paint behaves differently from new supplies. It surprises me, resists control, and asks me to collaborate rather than direct.
The process is meditative by design.
I layer, press, step away, and return. Time works alongside me. Instead of forcing composition, I pay attention to what emerges. Texture builds slowly, like thought does when allowed to wander.
These works are not about perfection. They are about presence.
I layer, press, step away, and return, letting time work alongside me. Instead of forcing composition, I pay attention to what emerges.
The process is meditative by design. I layer, press, step away, and return, letting time work alongside me. Instead of forcing composition, I pay attention to what emerges. Texture builds slowly, like thought does when allowed to wander. These works are not about perfection. They are about presence.
“These works are not about perfection. They are about presence.”
When the larger pieces feel complete, I do something counterintuitive: I take them apart. I cut them down. This deconstruction matters to me. It disrupts the idea that art should end in preservation. I select sections and transform them into small, hand-embellished greeting cards. On each one, I write a daily meditation or lyrical line that guided me while painting or surfaced during the process. The visual becomes intimate. The work moves from gallery scale into someone’s hands, into ordinary life.
Nothing is wasted. Final fragments become part of mixed media assemblages, expanding outward again after contraction. Each stage feeds the next. The work keeps breathing.
Even the smallest scraps stay in motion. Nothing is wasted. Final fragments become part of mixed media assemblages, expanding outward again after contraction. Each stage feeds the next. The work keeps breathing.
I created the Meditations Series because discarded materials, when approached with intention, hold emotional and spiritual potential. Reuse is not only ecological for me. It is personal. It mirrors the way people heal: we return to what feels spent, overlooked, or fragmented and discover there is still something alive there.
The series is also about listening. In a culture that rewards speed and spectacle, I wanted a practice built on repetition, patience, and attention. Making these pieces feels less like producing objects and more like practicing awareness. I stay with the surface, stay with the feeling, and let meaning arrive instead of forcing it.
Ultimately, the Meditations Series is my invitation to see differently. Not just what is salvaged, but what is sacred. To notice how transformation does not require newness, only care. The work asks what might change if we treated materials, and ourselves, with the same quiet reverence.
