“Haru” means spring in Japanese.

I feel this piece was born from many different emotions and experiences coming together over time.

Last year was a difficult season for me. As an artist and as a mother, I often found myself losing confidence and wondering if I could truly continue doing both well. As the world around us continued to change, there were moments when I desperately wanted to fully devote myself to my work, yet things did not unfold the way I had hoped. At the same time, I longed to evolve my artistic style and push my work further, but I often felt stuck between frustration and emptiness.

Looking back now, I think these feelings may have begun after giving birth.

There was a constant gap between the version of myself that wanted to fully dedicate herself to being an artist, and the version of myself that wanted to be fully present as a mother for my child. On top of that, I struggled with the reality that my physical and emotional energy could not always keep up with my expectations of myself.

After stepping away from social media following childbirth, returning felt overwhelming. It seemed as though my work was no longer being seen, and I began to fear that perhaps my art no longer had a place in the world. I carried that anxiety and inner conflict for years.

But at some point, something quietly shifted within me.

I realized that every person has a different capacity, different strengths, and different limits. Trying to keep up with people who appear to thrive endlessly was simply not realistic for me. Surprisingly, this realization did not feel sad — it felt freeing. It allowed me to accept my own abilities, my own pace, and to believe that it is enough to do what I can, within the life and energy I have.

Although it is easy for us to become consumed by negativity, I was also deeply encouraged by the kind words people shared with me over the years. Hearing things like “Your art is beautiful” or “Your paintings bring me a sense of peace” slowly gave me the courage to begin creating again.

In life, there are painful seasons that many of us must go through — wars, grief, loss, heartbreak, uncertainty. But with time, people slowly begin to heal. Little by little, they find the strength to lift their faces toward the light again, just as flowers bloom after enduring a long winter.

That quiet resilience felt incredibly beautiful to me.

This piece, “Haru,” was created from that feeling.

To those who are carrying pain right now, and to those who are slowly beginning to see hope again — I hope this artwork reminds you that there is no need to rush. At your own pace, gently and slowly, you will bloom again.

May “Haru” melt even a small part of the snow within your heart, and become a guide toward the warm light of spring.