An introduction to my neon nightmares

I keep painting hearts. Bright colors. Soft shapes. Not in a romantic way, not because I’m in love with anyone, but because something in me feels quieter. Safer. Less braced for impact.

For a long time my paintings were doing emergency work. They had to hold grief, anger, shock, and survival. They weren’t dark for the sake of being dark. They were load-bearing. They were carrying things I couldn’t.

Now the imagery is changing.

What I’m feeling isn’t infatuation. It’s relief. It’s the strange calm that comes after living in a state where every day felt like it could collapse. I’m not painting love for a person. I’m painting love for being alive again. For having a future that doesn’t feel constantly threatened.

Neon Nightmares has been coming together slowly, almost quietly. I’ve been sharing small pieces of it online, repeating the phrase, letting it exist before deciding how it should be released. I don’t feel rushed to put it all in the store. Part of me wants to release it as a whole. Part of me wants to save it for a physical moment, an event, a room full of people. It feels like a chapter, not inventory.

Right now I’m in the studio with nowhere else to be. No urgency. No need to perform productivity. Just painting because I want to be here. If the series finishes, it finishes. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too.

That feels new.

The hearts aren’t about romance. They’re about presence. About a nervous system finally standing down. About realizing I don’t have to carry everything anymore.

And that might be the most honest work I’ve made in a long time.