I paint vividly hued narratives; portraits of myself, and settings that include my two daughters, whose distinct figures have embedded themselves in my unconscious. I used paint to locate my identity, which I had misplaced somewhere in the act of becoming a mother. Through the act of painting myself, I discovered that my idea of myself was not siloed from my family. I’m not just me anymore; I multiplied. Or I disappeared. Probably both. My figurative oil and acrylic paintings are stories of particular moments. They carry color like a sunset next to a trash bin filled with Barbies; ordinary situations, domestic arrangements, that leave room for something else. Bits and pieces of our lives make their appearances on the painted stage. There are the plants and flowers I've cultivated in our front yard to make it seem less suburban and more wild. A cute little dog that jumps at our faces. An aquarium with a snail that ruthlessly ate the beautiful little orange fish. Family life is cruel and beautiful, our days are numbered, and it's all very lovely, funny, and horrifying.