The Origin Story: Art That Refused to Die

 

For years, I walked away from art. Not because I didn’t love it, but because the world around me didn’t know what to do with a girl who finished too fast, drew too well, and dreamed too boldly. They called it rushing. I called it muscle memory born from passion—years of drawing before school, after dinner, and in secret notebooks I hoped no one would find.

My journey as an artist doesn’t begin in a gallery or a university. It begins in a highchair, crayons in hand, drawing with a toddler’s urgency. It begins on walls I wasn’t allowed to decorate, admiring the room of a cousin whose drawings became my private museum of Black girl power. It begins next to a quiet 4th-grade classmate named Mary, whose sketches taught me that the body—especially the Black woman’s body—was sacred, fluid, and worthy of being drawn again and again.

But my love for art would be challenged again and again. Teachers punished me not for poor work—but for being “too good” too fast. My talent was measured not by its impact but by how long I could pretend to struggle. I was told that greatness required suffering, delay, and ultimately—death. That I’d have to die before my art could live.

I believed them. I gave up my dream of being an artist and pursued journalism instead. But letting go of art nearly killed me. Literally. The absence of creation fractured my sense of worth, blurred my mental health, and dimmed my life force.

And then something wild happened.

In 2020, when the world paused, art called me back. I discovered NFTs—not just as a tech trend, but as a new sacred space. The blockchain became my gallery without a gatekeeper. Suddenly, the idea that my work could outlive me wasn’t tragic—it was thrilling. My art could be traded, collected, remembered. Not because I died, but because I lived.

I’m back now. Different, deeper, wilder.

I’ve created hundreds of works that reflect not just skill, but survival. I move across mediums—digital, mixed media, traditional—with a spirit that channels memory, healing, rebellion, and joy. My collections speak in layers: of color, code, archetype, ancestors, emotion, and dream logic. No two pieces are the same because no two traumas are. No two breakthroughs are.

Each piece I mint is more than an image—it’s a signal. A time capsule. A story encoded for those who can feel it.

Collectors: if you’re not just looking for art, but for meaning that moves through time, energy that survives systems, and a voice that refused to be silenced—follow me.

This is my reclamation. And it’s just getting started.

Thanks for listening — Janel.