I Painted My Way Back to a Scottish Garden (And I Think You'll Understand Why)

There's a particular kind of afternoon that stays with you.

Not because anything dramatic happened — no grand revelation, no life-changing conversation. Just light through glass, the smell of green things, and the feeling of being somewhere that had nothing to do with anything that was bothering you.

I had one of those afternoons last summer in Scotland, wandering through a botanical garden with someone I love. We weren't in a hurry. We didn't have a plan. We just walked through greenhouse after greenhouse, stopping whenever something beautiful demanded it — which was constantly.

I didn't realize until I got home how much I needed that afternoon. Or how long I'd be trying to get back to it.

Here's something true about making art: sometimes you paint what you want to see more of in the world.

The world has felt heavy lately. I don't need to tell you that, you already know. You're living it too. And when things feel heavy, I do what I've always done: I pick up a brush and I make something soft.

The Botanical Garden Collection started as a travel memory and quietly became something more urgent — a place I could return to whenever I needed it. A greenhouse glowing with teal light. A storybook cottage buried in climbing roses, somewhere no news could reach. Pansies and forget-me-nots blooming bright against dark backgrounds, the way flowers do, stubborn and lovely and completely unbothered by circumstances.

Monet said he must have flowers, always and always. I've been thinking about that a lot. Flowers don't wait until things are better to bloom. They just bloom. This collection is my attempt to do the same thing.

What's Coming

The collection is still growing in my studio right now and I mean that literally. New pieces are happening in between everything else, the way gardens fill in: slowly, a little at a time, until suddenly it's full.

Here's what I can tell you so far. There will be prints some small and intimate, like the pansies clustered together on dark backgrounds or forget-me-nots in bright cerulean blue. There will be original paintings, including a greenhouse piece that I keep coming back to (teal sky, wildflowers crowding the glass, a Monet quote written across the top because it wouldn't leave me alone). There will be cards, stickers, and washi tape — because a garden should get to live on your desk and your planner and your letters, not just your wall.

And then there's the cottage. Soft stone, green shutters, roses climbing every surface, a little table set for tea. If you asked me right now where I most want to be, that painting is my answer. I think it'll be yours too.

I'm aiming for a mid-May release. That feels right with everything blooming at once.

Who This Is For

If you've ever stood in front of something beautiful — a garden, a painting, a window with good light — and felt your shoulders drop and your breath slow, this collection is for you.

If you give gifts to people who are going through it and you want to send something that says I see you without having to find the words, this collection is for you.

If you just need something on your wall that reminds you that soft things are still strong, that beauty keeps growing whether or not the timing is convenient — this collection is for you.

A Note on the Process

Everything in this collection is made by hand in my little studio — gouache on paper, painted in layers, usually late at night after a long day of other work. (I'm a school psychologist by day. Holding space for other people's hard things is my job, and this art is, in some ways, an extension of that.)

Each piece starts as a feeling I'm trying to get closer to. The Scottish garden gave me the coordinates. The paintings are how I keep finding my way back.

The Botanical Garden Collection drops mid-May. If you want to be the first to know — and get early access before it goes public — get on the list below. I'll send you a quiet heads-up when it's live.