The scraggly lines of pigment flowed out of the crayon tip like sand from a shaman’s hand during a mystical ritual. My stubby toddler fingers steadily guided the crayon along the surface with the reverence and awe of a prehistoric being discovering fire. 3-year-old me might as well have been a shaman, since creating a THING that had not existed before maneuvering a crayon wand was nothing less than magic.

What was not magical was my mother discovering the crayon marks I made was not on paper but on the full-length mirror in the kitchen. I credit my parents. Any others would have reacted with combustion, but instead, my parents channeled that energy and put me through what felt like ALL the art classes. Throughout childhood and middle school, I had maxed out on park district art programs, then upgraded to the Summer Fine Arts Program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. In high school, my curriculum was packed with as much art classes that were allowed. My appetite for learning and making art was insatiable. Immersing myself in the meditative practice of artmaking was my homeostasis.

When it came time for college, the practicalities of making a living ushered me to pursue commercial art. Charcoal, oil pastels, and paint brushes faded from my hands, and in their places were a keyboard, mouse, and trackpad. Digital screens replaced easels. My work disappeared into an ether belonging to my clients after I hit, “Send.” Before I knew it, almost two decades had passed since I held a piece of charcoal in my hand let alone a crayon.

In May of this year, I experienced a miscarriage.

Enduring that dimmed our world and crumbled the hearts of myself, Brim Hubby, and yes, 4-year-old Brim Baby, who was beyond thrilled about becoming a big sister. The care from my medical team helped my body heal, and the care from my family and friends helped my heart recover. (I won’t say my heart healed; I don’t think it ever will, and I don’t say that in a tragic sense. I simply recognize there will always be a crack in my heart reserved for Her.)

When I felt ready, I transitioned back into work and daily life again, but there was still something missing. My hands ached to be that curious child in the kitchen again, boundlessly creating judgment-free art with tactile tools. With the help of my ever-loving Brim Hubby, we transformed what was supposed to be the nursery into an art studio. We built an easel and art cart, and I loaded the cart with acrylic paints, brushes, palettes, and oil pastels. And now, over the months of July and August, working in my art studio first thing in the morning over a cup of coffee and at night after tucking in Brim Baby, I fondly recall that it has always been my dream to have an in-home art studio. (We did it, Teenage Aireen! [high five])

This art studio has now become a mystical refuge where I can be the shaman again, conjuring magic through meditative flow.

Working on my first art piece – a 24″ x 30″ mixed media piece on canvas – became therapeutic. It is a piece that explores both my miscarriage and generational trauma.

In the last five years, becoming a mother and enduring tumultuous world events have given way to a general theme of rediscovery and healing for me. If you’ve been following me here and on Instagram, you know that I’ve embarked on a personal mission to rediscover my Filipino roots.

And now, I’m proud to share that both my mission of rediscovering my Filipino roots and the reignition of my fine arts roots have culminated in the ultimate personal intersection:

From September 20 to November 8, 2024, my art piece will be displayed at Epiphany Center for the Arts in Chicago in an exhibit called, Unwrapping Lumpia: Deconstructing the Filipino American Identity.

Unwrapping Lumpia, curated by Filipino American artist Cesar Conde, features the work of thirty-eight Filipino American artists in an exhibit that delves into the complexities of Filipino American identity and the experiences of individuals within this community. I invite you to come view the exhibit! it provides a platform for Fil-Am artists to explore and express their personal journeys and reflections on identity.

And please come to the opening reception on Friday, September 20th at Epiphany Center for the Arts in the Catacombs Gallery. I’d love to see you. RSVP HERE.

I’m still sorting through my feelings about my miscarriage. I often think about the life that could’ve been. I also recognize that there is still so much joy in my life. I have a child who needs her mom, so I remind myself to be completely present for her and soak in all of the joy that she exudes. I have a husband who unequivocally supports me and shows up for me. We still laugh. We still cherish each other.

If there is a dormant hobby or pursuit that made you feel mystical and magical in a seemingly distant past, I hope you don’t wait for a tragedy to reignite your passion for it. My wish for you is for you to pick it up again in times of joy so you can rediscover your inner shaman, where the spark of energy ignites and creativity flows.