In 2019, exhausted from sexual assault survivors’ pain, after closing my non-profit organization, I posted that I can not do it anymore. I felt as if my veins are burning and I have to clean my soul from it all. It was right after my 45th Bday. 

A month later, I saw a video on Youtube which was titled – epoxy and wood. The words excited me. 

You see, I’m my father’s daughter and he taught me as a young child how to chop wood, work with a hammer and more skills a young girl can gain working with wood..  He also wrote a book about glues and epoxy was a word that felt like home.

I immediately went and bought some epoxy resin and started experimenting. 

In the first few weeks, I just didn’t understand what’s going on. I didn’t feel sad, but I was sitting, creating while crying. Tears just wouldn’t stop pouring out of my eyes. When people asked me what was this clear liquid I was creating with, I used to answer “Epoxy and Tears”. 

Then, I understood why art is a therapy. I understood what people talked about when they said art is therapeutical. I understood that it’s without of my reach, like my body is self cleansing, pouring all the hurt outside of me.  

It took a while to purify myself. To go back to my smiling self, happy vital creature that I am. I felt as if I’m painting back my colors. Painting over all the grays and darks. All the blackness of hurt.

Then came Covid.