Once upon a midnight house, with old cedar trunks and the tale of a mouse, was the memoir of a child in a fort of books, who would spirit away from hidden nook to nook. Betwixt secret gardens, in paintings she would hide, from the knackering shadow, the whispering king that rose, the nightmare that was time—the crocodile ticking by.

My grandmother had a magic house. Amid its secrets, she struck the first cords of curiosity in me to paint. I would sit on a stool and watch her busy about fashioning rich acrylic gardens. At times she would paint me within her canvas realms. 

“The Never Queen” is an entanglement of impressions of Japanese ink painting, my childhood nightmares and inspiration from a classic fairytale once read to me by my grandmother, Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie. Visiting my grandmother’s home with its secret rooms and inset bookcases was its own magical Neverland. 
In the clutches of uncertainty, my shadow-self reigned my youth, its myriad faces denoting possibilities of perceived loss. Fear of the unknown path was a great tide, a billowing wave of fabric, that consumed me beyond waking moments, until I learned to reign with strength over my own story, over my adult life—to lie my truths bare.

The tale of Peter Pan has simple truths, akin to the art of sumi-e: its frayed, simplified brushstrokes allude to the threads of my initial passion for story and illustrative art—the inevitability of this path blotting, spattering, guiding me through a kohl abyss of fear.
This piece is my foundation, a mock ink-wash and rendering in black and white—the inception of my art journey, which began with the tale of Peter Pan read by my grandmother, her presence beside me in my younger years of life. She was my idol, the great woman I watched paint, transfixed with untold wonder.

“The Never Queen” is a pledge to remember my origin: the woman who taught me to fly and never doubt how to do it.