Oil on canvas and metallic leaf
When I began this painting, I didn’t start with a face—I started with a feeling. I wanted to paint the energy of a woman who belongs both to the earth and to the sky. A woman who has walked through fire and emerged not burned, but brighter. That’s how Rubra was born—from the Latin for “red,” but also a word that holds a sacred, ancient weight. A word that feels like heat, life, blood, and beauty.
Her gaze isn’t passive. She looks straight through you, not for approval, but with the quiet challenge of someone who knows who she is. She invites you to do the same—to stand in your own truth, even when it doesn’t fit into the world around you.
I painted flowers around her, not just for softness, but for strength. Daisies may seem delicate, but they’re fierce survivors—they grow where other things fade. Just like her. Just like us.
The golden and turquoise patterns across her skin aren’t simply decorative. They are stories. They feel like ancient tattoos, like markings from a ritual you don’t remember but still carry in your bones. They shimmer like memory, like spirit.
Rubra is a visual prayer for those learning not to ask for permission to be whole.
It’s a tribute to anyone who has ever felt too much, too wild, too alive.
She is flower—but she is also fire.
