Blood Oranges | Oil Painting | 18 x 24
This painting was born in the thick of an obsession. One ripe, citrus-soaked day, I found myself creating all things orange—juice, lemonades, body masks, little potions of delight. The fruit consumed me in the most playful, nourishing way. I wasn’t trying to make a painting at first. I was just listening.
As I began painting, I intended to depict myself, as I often do—my life, my body, my moment. But what emerged wasn’t quite a figure, not in the traditional sense. It felt more like a sculpture surfacing from shadow. It came to me slowly, gently. This wasn’t a painting I could control. I had to surrender. To soften. To trust that something was forming beyond what I could plan.
I worked on it over several days, watching it evolve. At times I didn’t know where it was going, but I stayed with it—quiet, open, curious. And in that patience, the form revealed itself. A back, a torso, an offering. And always, at the center, the blood oranges. Lush, tender, grounding the whole piece in a sacred sort of sweetness.
This painting reminded me what it means to trust the process. To let something become. To let fruit have the final word.
Materials | Canvas, Oil
18 × 24 inches
Certificate of authenticity
This painting was born in the thick of an obsession. One ripe, citrus-soaked day, I found myself creating all things orange—juice, lemonades, body masks, little potions of delight. The fruit consumed me in the most playful, nourishing way. I wasn’t trying to make a painting at first. I was just listening.
As I began painting, I intended to depict myself, as I often do—my life, my body, my moment. But what emerged wasn’t quite a figure, not in the traditional sense. It felt more like a sculpture surfacing from shadow. It came to me slowly, gently. This wasn’t a painting I could control. I had to surrender. To soften. To trust that something was forming beyond what I could plan.
I worked on it over several days, watching it evolve. At times I didn’t know where it was going, but I stayed with it—quiet, open, curious. And in that patience, the form revealed itself. A back, a torso, an offering. And always, at the center, the blood oranges. Lush, tender, grounding the whole piece in a sacred sort of sweetness.
This painting reminded me what it means to trust the process. To let something become. To let fruit have the final word.
Materials | Canvas, Oil
18 × 24 inches
Certificate of authenticity
This painting was born in the thick of an obsession. One ripe, citrus-soaked day, I found myself creating all things orange—juice, lemonades, body masks, little potions of delight. The fruit consumed me in the most playful, nourishing way. I wasn’t trying to make a painting at first. I was just listening.
As I began painting, I intended to depict myself, as I often do—my life, my body, my moment. But what emerged wasn’t quite a figure, not in the traditional sense. It felt more like a sculpture surfacing from shadow. It came to me slowly, gently. This wasn’t a painting I could control. I had to surrender. To soften. To trust that something was forming beyond what I could plan.
I worked on it over several days, watching it evolve. At times I didn’t know where it was going, but I stayed with it—quiet, open, curious. And in that patience, the form revealed itself. A back, a torso, an offering. And always, at the center, the blood oranges. Lush, tender, grounding the whole piece in a sacred sort of sweetness.
This painting reminded me what it means to trust the process. To let something become. To let fruit have the final word.
Materials | Canvas, Oil
18 × 24 inches
Certificate of authenticity