Life as a Canvas: Redefining What It Means to Create

Life as Art: A Journey Through Darkness and Creation

When I was in seventh grade, something completely unexpected happened—I won the Art Award at the end of the school year. My entire family was stunned. I was stunned. No one, not even me, had seen it coming. But looking back, that moment was the spark that ignited something deep within me. It was as if the universe whispered, You are an artist. And from that day forward, I couldn’t stop creating.

My world became my canvas. My bedroom was no longer just a space—it was a living, breathing art installation, filled with handmade treasures, mood boards, and walls covered in drawings and lyrics that spoke to my soul. I made gifts for friends, poured my heart into carefully curated playlists, and burned CDs decorated with intricate Sharpie designs, each one a tiny masterpiece of intention. Every choice, every detail, became an extension of my creativity.

In high school, I took every art class I could, hungry to explore new techniques, new mediums, new ways to bring my inner world to life. Art wasn’t just a subject I studied; it was the language I spoke, the air I breathed. So it felt only natural when I went on to attend the Art Institute of Chicago. For the first couple of years, I thrived. I was in my element, surrounded by fellow creatives, immersed in an environment where art wasn’t just encouraged—it was everything.

But then, the path shifted. My obsession with creating was slowly eclipsed by a different kind of obsession—one far darker, far more consuming. Drugs, partying, the endless chase for something just out of reach. My passion dulled, my creativity dimmed, and before I knew it, I was slipping away from the very thing that had once defined me.

I absent-failed school three times before finally being kicked out. The Art Institute—the place I had once dreamed of—became a painful reminder of everything I had lost. Those were the darkest years of my life, and strangely, they were also the years I felt least connected to my creativity. It was as if the part of me that had once burned so brightly had been completely extinguished.

People often ask me, Do you still make art? And for the longest time, I carried shame in my answer. Because for years, I wasn’t painting, I wasn’t drawing, I wasn’t creating in the way I once had. It felt like I had abandoned a fundamental part of myself. But recently, something within me has shifted.

I see it so clearly now—art never left me. It simply transformed.

Because art isn’t just paint on a canvas. Art is life itself.

I see it in the way I cook, pouring love and intention into every meal. I see it in my garden, where each plant is a brushstroke in the masterpiece of nature. I see it in the way I dance with my babies, the way our laughter fills the room like a song. I see it in my home, in the colors and textures I choose to surround myself with. I see it in my wardrobe, the way I mix patterns and fabrics like a living work of art. I see it in the playlists I curate, in the way a sequence classes can tell a story, evoke a memory, transport us somewhere else.

And perhaps most profoundly, I see it in the way I move through the world—with intention, with love, with a deep reverence for the beauty in the ordinary.

This realization led me to a different kind of art school—one not confined to classrooms or critiques but woven into the very fabric of existence. Through tantra, Ayurveda, kundalini, and yoga, I’ve learned that creativity is divine, that every moment is an opportunity to infuse life with art.

I had to walk through the darkness to understand this. I had to lose my connection to creativity to realize it was never something external—it was always within me, waiting to be rediscovered in new forms.

Now, I live my life as art.

And that, I’ve come to understand, is the greatest masterpiece of all.