12x12 Acrylic/ Glitter/ Resin/ Canvas. Ready to hang. 

Every Sunday I drive from South San Diego up to Orange County to teach a 9 am yoga class. I always used to love driving, it was like freedom to me, until I witnessed a fatal motorcycle accident. Then the world went into lock down so I didn’t drive anywhere for a few years, and in that isolation, it compounded my fear of becoming what I saw. I’ve been a spazz ever since, convinced I’m going to die or worse every time I get on the highway. So driving an hour north at 7am in my new electric blue convertible Mustang (named Mazzy, short for Mariposa) is therapeutic. It took me an extremely long time to not be afraid of teaching a class, especially in a studio where I barely know anybody. It took me even longer to know that I am sincerely good at teaching. 

So despite the insanity of driving an hour there and back to teach a 90-minute class, it’s one of my favorite parts of my week. Especially after I’ve connected with my students, opened and closed the sudio and checked in the class with no disasters, and left to drive home. Driving on highways doesn’t make my spine go numb anymore and as it turns out neither does teaching a 90 minute dialogue in a hot room. Both things at one time I never thought possible, not for me. 

Between San Clemente and Oceanside is a stretch of empty land. Probably a military base. Right at the Pacific Coast Highway exit it’s like being on a cliff in Big Sur, looking out at a massive expanse of ocean and sky that stretches on forever. “If I would have stayed afraid, I would have missed this.” I say to myself. Everything I see is sparkling, the light misses nothing. 

Not only did it take me my whole life to get to this part, it took me even longer to feel it, and to know I’m feeling it. The light is everywhere I look these days and sometimes I know I’m feeling it. This is a drastic accomplishment, even if only from one moment to the next. This painting is a portrait of the reminder of that - radiating all around.