What Does It Mean to Be Seen?

Lately, I’ve been sitting with this question—what does it mean to be seen?

Not just looked at. Not just noticed. But really, truly seen.

To have your full self—the messy, aching, aging, angry, joyful, chaotic, quiet self—recognized without needing to soften the edges. Not needing to shrink. Not needing to explain.

This question keeps finding its way into my studio, into the brushstrokes, into the shadows behind the flowers and the broken bits that frame the light. It lingers in the corners of The Flourishing Reign of Femme, where delicate petals rise wildly against order. It echoes in Underfoot: Autumn’s Boroughs, where beauty lives low and overlooked, right where we walk. It hums through Meditation, where rest is a form of rebellion.

I paint because I want to see and be seen.
And I want you to feel seen, too.

Zoomed in on grapes & ladybug from The Flourishing Reign of Femme

In a world that demands perfection, I’m reaching for the imperfect.

I find beauty in the things we’re told to discard. The peel, the crack, the wilted bloom, the stained wall, the quiet protest. These are not flaws. They are stories. They are survival.

As a woman in midlife, an artist, and a mother of a queer child, I know what it feels like to have your worth measured by outdated standards. I know the weight of invisibility. And I know the liberation that comes from reclaiming space through creation.

When I paint, I’m not just creating a picture—I’m building a mirror. One that reflects not the airbrushed version of life, but the real thing. The bruises and the blooms.

Water lily detail, Meditation

So when I ask, “What does it mean to be seen?”—this is what I mean:

It means honoring softness and strength.
It means telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.
It means making space for others to show up as they are.
It means not asking permission to take up space.
It means letting your presence be a kind of protest.

If my work has ever made you feel recognized—thank you. That connection means everything.

And if you’ve ever felt like the world skips over your story, I hope you find pieces of yourself in the petals, the cracks, the colors. You deserve to be seen.