When I created Radiance, I wasn’t trying to make something profound. I was simply trying to learn. I had stumbled across a chiaroscuro tutorial—an exercise in light and shadow—and I needed something to take my mind somewhere else. Somewhere still.
But art has a way of showing you what you needed to see all along.
What began as a technical exercise turned into something deeply personal. In the soft glow of the lily blooming against that dark background, I saw myself. Not in a grand, victorious sense—but in a quiet, almost reluctant one. The kind of growth that doesn’t shout, that doesn’t even know if it will work—but still tries. Still leans toward light.
During that time in my life, so much was outside of my control. And hope… it wasn’t the kind of hope that things would get better, because in truth, I didn’t know if they would. I had to find a different kind of hope—a gentler one. The hope that I could still notice what was good. That I could still choose to see. Choose to follow the light, even if the darkness around me didn’t change.
That was the hardest part. Learning that some of the darkness might never lift—and that I could still move anyway. Still draw forward. Still bloom.
We often think of darkness as something bad, but the truth is: darkness is only the absence of light. It doesn’t mean we are lost. It means we haven’t turned our face toward the light yet. And for me, that light wasn’t certainty. It wasn’t even comfort. It was simply the smallest willingness to find what was still beautiful. To believe that blooming could happen here too.
Radiance is about that choice. The quiet, brave, everyday decision to stay open. To let yourself be soft in hard places. To grow not because the world is safe—but because you are still here. And still becoming.
If you’ve ever had to hold beauty and pain at the same time, this piece is for you.
With Love,
