Some paintings tell stories, but a rare few are the story. For me, Natural Mess is one of those rare pieces—a work of art that spans my entire watercolor journey. It’s a tale of triumph and heartbreak, growth and loss, pain and renewal. Walk with me as I retrace its winding path.
It began during a charity art show I’d been invited to participate in. In the chaos of setup, I decided to work on a new painting right there at the venue—a bold choice since I’d never painted in front of people before. The brushstrokes came together quickly, almost like the piece had been waiting to escape my soul. By the time the show opened, the painting wasn’t even dry, its edges curling slightly from the wetness. It was raw, imperfect, yet beautiful.
I didn’t intend to sell it. Usually, I like to live with my art for a while—admire it, learn from it, understand it fully. But as I sat in a corner with the still-wet painting, a woman approached, captivated by what she saw. She asked if she could buy it. My instinct was to say no, but this was a charity event, and her enthusiasm was undeniable. So, I named a price, and she paid it directly to the event staff. Just like that, she took the painting home, still damp with my fingerprints.
The joy of helping the cause should have been enough, but I couldn’t shake the emptiness that followed. I hadn’t even had time to appreciate the painting for what it was. All I had was a single photo of it. The loss gnawed at me for months.
A year later, I decided to reclaim that feeling. The original was inspired by a follower on Twitter, so I turned to her best friend for the new version. I wanted the second painting to have a deep connection to the first, almost like siblings. This time, I made a solemn promise: I would never sell it. This painting would stay with me until the very end of my life. That vow, as it turns out, would shape my life in ways I never could have imagined.
Fast forward two years. The world shut down as a pandemic swept through, and like so many others, I had to adapt. I moved in temporarily with my on-again, off-again partner, leaving the painting—my most cherished piece—at her place for safekeeping.
When that relationship unraveled, it did so violently. Without diving too deep into the pain of it, I’ll say this: recovering the painting became a mission. Leaving it behind wasn’t an option. I knew I couldn’t trust its safety in her hands.
What followed was a battle of wills. Ownership of the painting became a flashpoint in our final, heated argument. The painting symbolized something deeper for both of us, and neither was willing to concede. When I finally retrieved it, the confrontation turned physical. Bruised and shaken, I left with the painting clutched tightly in my hands, knowing I’d made the right choice.
In the aftermath, I learned that the other pieces I’d left behind—sketches, paintings, creative fragments of my soul—had been burned. Destroyed. They were lost forever. But Natural Mess survived. It was worth every bruise, every tear.
Two more years passed. With time, therapy, and the love of a healthier life, I healed. Now, in my new home, the second version of Natural Mess hangs proudly—a symbol of resilience, growth, and everything I’ve endured.
But the story wasn’t finished. I knew it was time to revisit the piece one final time. The first painting marked the beginning of an era. The second, created during my artistic prime, was its peak. And now, as I reflect on the journey, I feel ready to close this chapter with a new version that represents an ending.
Natural Mess isn’t just a painting. It’s a part of me, a testament to survival, creativity, and the power of holding on to what matters most.