Active 1h ago
My name is NESTA—painter, writer, and artist born from the ache of absence. I came to the canvas not through ambition, but through mourning; when my grandmother passed, the world lost its shape, and so I began painting to find new ones. Grief taught me that silence has a weight, and color became my only language heavy enough to carry it. I never set out to be seen—only to survive the echo she left behind. But somewhere between the chaos of brushstrokes and the stillness of drying paint, I began to recognize myself, not just as someone who creates, but as someone becoming through the act of CREATING.
Art is never just decoration or technique — it is the language of the unseen.
Active 1h ago
My name is NESTA—painter, writer, and artist born from the ache of absence. I came to the canvas not through ambition, but through mourning; when my grandmother passed, the world lost its shape, and so I began painting to find new ones. Grief taught me that silence has a weight, and color became my only language heavy enough to carry it. I never set out to be seen—only to survive the echo she left behind. But somewhere between the chaos of brushstrokes and the stillness of drying paint, I began to recognize myself, not just as someone who creates, but as someone becoming through the act of CREATING.
Art is never just decoration or technique — it is the language of the unseen.
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