Meet Corey
I met Corey last fall.
She's a budding chef.
A lover of classical movies.
A total jokster.
And a tramatic brain injury survivor.
Her senior year in high school, Corey’s car was hit by a truck.
And her injuries were so severe, she had to rebuild her entire life again from scratch.
Corey was taking big steps in recovery the day we met at the art show.
Just by walking in the sunshine and looking at art.
To feel a sence of stability and normalicy in a body that often isn't.
She was drawn to the hands and flowers in my paintings because they felt familiar.
Like her own bedroom, a place that holds and comforts her.
Marie—Corey’s mom and best friend—reached out for me to commission a painting as a surprise gift for Corey’s birthday.
Which also happened to coinside with the 15 year anniversary of Corey’s accident.
She choose a hand reaching toward us, open and inviting.
Holding a butterfly launching into flight.
Because life can change you without erasing you.
Because transformation can be brutal but you get to decide how to hold it.
Because progress can be slow and uneven and still be progress.
Many of us are carrying something.
Visible or invisible.
And we’re doing our best to keep showing up anyway.
Sometimes that’s the bravest part.
It was on the day I met Corey.
This is why I like painting hands.
To hold what’s hard to say out loud.
To honor the versions of us that keep evolving.
To make something that says, I’m still here.
