Exploring emotional healing through abstract art

On May 27, 2022, my mother passed away. It was a devastating loss, one that shook me to my core. I had never known grief so profound. Everywhere I turned, I saw her—through my art, through the memories that wove through my daily life, through the very essence of my being. She was an artist, just as I am, and our connection was deeply intertwined with creativity.

Our relationship was complicated, filled with love but also with tension. We were so alike that it sometimes felt like we were competing for space in each other’s lives, for my father’s attention, for recognition. My teenage years were marked by fierce battles, but time softened the edges of our relationship. With the help of therapy and the passage of years, we found our way to a new kind of bond—one of friendship and mutual respect. We traveled together, visited galleries, and shared meals. But one boundary remained firm: she could not critique my art. Her opinion carried so much weight that a single comment could unravel my confidence. So we agreed—my studio was my sanctuary, free from her well-intended but piercing insights.

Ironically, when she died, I retreated into that very studio, painting with an urgency I had never felt before. Art became my lifeline, a way to process my grief, to navigate the pain that felt overwhelming. I inherited her art supplies, her personal objects—each piece a fragment of her presence. My studio transformed into a quiet tribute to her, filled with reminders of the life she lived: a colorful straw bag, a Portuguese festival mask, paints she once used. Every brushstroke felt like a conversation with her, a way to keep her close.

During her illness, I had been preparing for an exhibition, pouring my emotions onto the canvas. I titled it Ready to Exhale, because that was what it felt like—holding my breath through the highs and lows of her final days, bracing for the inevitable. The process of creating those paintings was cathartic, allowing me to express emotions that words could never quite capture. Art gave me a way to hold onto her, to feel her presence even as I navigated the emptiness she left behind.

Grief doesn’t vanish; it changes form. Even now, I catch glimpses of her in my daily life, in the way my hands move as I paint, knowing that they once formed within her body. That connection—so simple yet profound—grounds me. Art continues to be my refuge, a way to explore not just sorrow but also the beauty that exists beyond loss. Travel, for instance, has become an incredible source of inspiration. My husband and I recently journeyed to Australia, a place where my mother lived as a young girl. Walking through landscapes she once knew felt like a quiet reunion, a way to touch a part of her past while embracing my own artistic future.

Abstract art has always been about more than just color and composition for me—it is a way to process the intangible, to give form to emotions that resist definition. Through every painting, I find a piece of healing, a sense of peace amid the chaos of loss. My grief may always be a part of me, but so is my creativity. And as long as I can paint, I can keep moving forward, finding meaning in every brushstroke, in every moment of inspiration.