The Art of Allivation

          My perpetual relationship with pain began when I was five years old. My epidural unknowingly came out of place after major surgery to remove my kidney and Nerf football-sized tumor inside For twelve days I received no pain medications for the incision that went from my belly button to my spine.

          By the time I was eight, I survived cancer three times with a 2% survival rate. 

But what is the cost of surviving?

          Pain plays a relentless role in our lives -- I have accepted this. My paintings bleed with heartbreak as I use my body and life experiences to illustrate the lasting effects of cancer and life with chronic pain. The painting "Suit Yourself" demonstrates how my practice collectively focuses on the perseverance it takes to survive.

          I had 12 surgeries, over 150 days inpatient, lost my hair twice, lost my kidney, lost my uterus, went through radiation, had a transplant, underwent experimental treatment, and had toxic chemotherapies poured into me. Childhood Cancer impacts every aspect of life for a child during treatment. Even when a child survives, they suffer long-lasting effects on their quality of life. I have delved into research on treatments, life during and after cancer, side effects, mental health, PTSD, reproduction, and statistics of Childhood Cancer as this all informs my artwork. This knowledge gives me something concrete to draw on as I pull from the emotional and autobiographical aspects.

          I am in a constant state of hiding my trauma and disclosing it to others. My recent pieces take place in a domestic bathroom. "Morning Routine" illustrates what it looks like when pain becomes ingrained in the day. Paintings like “Reopen” express how people will never know the things we have lived through unless we expose our scars. But even, the scars are just on the surface and are undeserving of the destruction that lies within. Through my art, I try to express how maybe people would believe our pain if they could see inside us. Painting has served as a cathartic process as I release my anguish and confront my PTSD. Most prominently seen in the piece "Rate Your Pain," I incorporate medical equipment, cut, rip, patch, stitch up, and stain the canvas to provoke the visceral nature of mortality. 

           We are going to experience pain, heartbreak, loss, and tragedy. But how do we survive it? What does it mean to be more than just a survivor? 

          These are the questions I am starting to explore answers to. I am a survivor. But survival is insufficient. There is more to life than tolerating pain, than grinding teeth until the moment passes. I aim to communicate a message of resilience as we all face difficulties. Due to everything I have gone through, I have immense gratitude, empathy, and hope. And if there is one thing worse than being in pain– It is losing hope.