A couple of years ago, I came across an amazing TV series: Life After Life, based on the captivating book by Kate Atkinson. The series follows protagonist Ursula Todd, who is born during a snowstorm in 1910 and dies, only to be continually reborn and live through alternate timelines of the turbulent 20th century.

This past summer, I encountered Iboga for the first time through a family member who travelled abroad to experience this pattern-shattering psychedelic. And while I have not had the experience myself, the telling of this experience impacted me greatly.

Art often begins where words fall short, emerging from the quiet spaces of meditation, vision, and inner processing. This piece, Morphic Resonance, completed in May of 2024 as part of the Rainbow Body series, is deeply rooted in one such moment - a guided meditation focused on healing.

In the fall of 2020, life was defined by screens. Working from home as the Director of Advancement at Helios School - overseeing admissions, development, and communications - my days were spent perpetually tethered to Zoom windows and phone calls. Like almost everyone, I deeply missed being out in the physical world.

When the ground beneath me shattered, language failed. Trauma has a way of short-circuiting our usual narrative pathways, leaving us stranded in experiences that feel too vast, too fragmented, or too unspeakable for ordinary words. In those moments, the impulse to make art becomes an act of reclamation. It is an entry point into what can truly be called Medicine Painting.

When I was a child in the 1980s, I visited the enchanting world of Filoli once a week from the comfort of my own bedroom -  my parents had no idea.

There is a specific kind of appreciation reserved for the television shows we watched as children - a shimmering, slightly distorted nostalgia that makes the screen feel larger than life. For me, that magic was Irwin Allen’s The Time Tunnel.

I’ve always been drawn to the "big ideas." Growing up, physics was the language of my home; my father and I bonded over the strangeness of the universe. He turned the dining room table into a classroom, using household objects and fruit to model nanoscopic particles, helping me visualize the invisible forces humming all around us.

The classic birthday cake of my childhood was always homemade in a silver pan. There were no exceptions: it had to be chocolate with chocolate glaze, completely covered in sprinkles and silver dragees. I absolutely loved those little silver balls. I knew they were waiting for me at the next birthday - if not mine, then at a classmate’s or a neighborhood friend’s, because everyone, at every kid’s birthday party, received that very same cake. Sometimes, if you were especially lucky, your mom would make it just for fun.

This is the first artwork completed in my Retro-Causation series. In November of 2025, I began trying to make sense of my life. I was experiencing profound burnout and felt confused about my direction. As I always do, I coped by turning to my art practice. When you are thoroughly exhausted, even the joy and release of making something meaningful and beautiful is barely enough to get you out of bed - but it was, at least, a start in my wellness journey.

I was born in 1974 to the best parents I know. I mean that sincerely - I’ve yet to encounter a more loving couple, two people who were and still are completely dedicated to their family. My mom was a beautiful 21-year-old musician and singer, and my father, a physicist turned computer scientist, was nearly ten years her senior at 30 when they welcomed me into the world.

Is using AI a legitimate artistic tool for bringing my vision to life, or is it just the easy way out- a cop-out that I will later regret? This question has been on my mind and will likely continue to plague me in the coming years. I have started using AI in my creative process, specifically for my art piece that looks like a book, Noa’s Painted Rainbow, where I utilized it to create the cover illustration.

An old photograph recently brought me back in time. It was a picture of me in 1980, dressed in my ballet leotard. Looking at it, I was hit by a sudden, intense flash of emotion and nostalgia, transporting me instantly back to that time and place. Suddenly, I remembered my beloved Grandpa Bunny book, and I could vividly recall the awe and reverence with which I used to turn every single page.