Art has always been a sanctuary for me—a space where stories unfold, where colours whisper secrets, and where strength finds its voice. But the question I’m often asked is, “Why goddesses?” Why do I return, again and again, to these mythological figures, painting their stories onto canvas with gold leaf, delicate petals, and sweeping brushstrokes?
The answer isn’t simple, but it’s deeply personal. It’s a story woven with threads of passion, resilience, and a calling I couldn’t ignore.
A Childhood Shaped by Stories and Stages
From the moment I could walk, I was immersed in creativity. I danced—ballet, tap, contemporary—each movement telling its own story. But it wasn’t just the dance I loved; it was the world around it. The sets, the costumes, the way fabrics and lighting could transform a stage into another universe.
That love carried me into university, where I studied Theatre Design, and later into Film and TV Production Design during my master’s degree. I worked in worlds where stories were brought to life with painted backdrops, textured fabrics, and carefully placed props.
But somewhere in those years of building other people’s worlds, I began to lose touch with my own creative voice.
The Turning Point: Rediscovering My Creativity
Lockdown brought stillness—a forced pause in a world that had always moved too fast. Teaching art online during the day was rewarding, but exhausting. My students were exploring their voices, their ideas, their why, and I began to realize something:
I wasn’t doing the same for myself.
So I picked up a brush.
At first, it was simply an escape—a way to disconnect from the constant hum of anxiety and uncertainty. But as I painted, something shifted. My strokes became more intentional, my colors bolder, my themes clearer.
And then came Athena.
This painting was my aha moment—the piece where everything clicked. Athena, the goddess of wisdom and courage, became not just a subject, but a mirror. She reflected back at me the strength I’d forgotten I carried, the wisdom I was still uncovering, and the resilience I had built through years of challenges.
That was the moment I realized: these are the stories I need to tell.
Art as Healing: Finding Strength in Fragility
Chronic illness has always been a quiet undercurrent in my life. My family has lived under the shadow of Lupus, and ten years ago, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. It’s a condition that brings relentless fatigue, sharp joint pain, and a fog that clouds even the clearest thoughts.
There are days when my body feels heavy, unyielding, and impossible to move. But art—art cuts through the weight of it all.
In the slow layering of oils, the rhythmic motion of a brush, and the glimmer of gold leaf catching the light, I find clarity. Painting becomes more than creativity—it becomes a form of healing.
During lockdown, I created a piece called ‘Fragility.’ It wasn’t tied to a specific goddess, but it was deeply personal. It carried everything I was feeling: the weight of uncertainty, the ache of distance from loved ones, and the fragile hope that things might, one day, bloom again.
This painting went on to be exhibited digitally around the world, including at Le Carrousel du Louvre. And while its reach was global, its story was deeply personal.
Why Goddesses?
Goddesses are more than mythological figures—they are archetypes, symbols, and mirrors of the human experience. They embody courage, love, wisdom, and rage. They are flawed, fierce, and apologetically powerful.
When I paint a goddess, I’m not just painting her image—I’m painting her essence.
- Athena carries wisdom and strategy.
- Aphrodite embodies love, beauty, and vulnerability.
- Nyx wraps herself in mystery and the comfort of night.
Each goddess represents something universal, something timeless, something we can all see in ourselves.
But it’s not just the goddesses that speak to me—it’s their symbols. The roses and peonies I weave into my paintings are not simply decorative; they’re metaphors. A rose doesn’t bloom without thorns, and a peony must endure the weight of spring rain before it unfurls its petals.
These flowers tell their own stories—stories of endurance, transformation, and quiet strength.
The Dream That Keeps Me Painting
When I paint, I’m not just creating art; I’m building a bridge—between myth and modernity, between ancient stories and today’s world.
I dream of a studio in Italy—a space filled with light, with walls lined in my art, and with a view of blooming gardens and rolling hills. A space where creativity flows freely, where stories are painted into existence, and where I can share this journey with others.
But even now, in my current studio, surrounded by canvases and scattered gold leaf, I feel that same calling.
Every brushstroke is a conversation—with myself, with the goddess I’m painting, and with you.
For Those Who Find Themselves in These Stories
My hope is that when you see one of my paintings, you don’t just see art.
I hope you see yourself.
I hope you see your resilience, your beauty, and your strength reflected back at you.
I hope you feel seen, understood, and empowered.
Because the goddesses I paint—they aren’t distant figures locked in ancient myths. They are alive in every one of us.
Thank you for being here, for sharing in these stories, and for allowing me to paint not just for myself, but for you. 🌹
With love,
Nikki