I didn’t grow up with crypto. I grew up with oil paint.

For 25 years, I worked in the traditional art world. That meant building a clientele, selling work, and (let’s be honest) creating what people would actually buy. Landscapes, tourist-friendly scenes, art that “fit” into homes. I wasn’t faking it — but I wasn’t fully free either.

The only time I broke away from that cycle was a big project called Like a Girl, Dare to Dream. It was about empowerment, representation, impact. It got attention, made waves, and for the two years I dedicated to it, I felt like I was creating from my soul. But financially? It crushed me. I couldn’t get enough sponsors to even cover the costs. The lesson was harsh: passion projects don’t always pay the bills.

And then… NFTs.

Suddenly, in 2021, I found myself surrounded by a community that didn’t care if my art matched a sofa. Collectors in this space encouraged weird, raw, authentic work. They challenged the system. They wanted truth. It was liberating.

I sold a lot back then. And every bit of what I made, and more, I reinvested into supporting other artists. My marriage was stable, my shop was doing well — so I used that window of freedom to build a digital collection I still treasure today. It has zero liquidity, but it gives me joy every single time I look at it.

Then everything fell apart.

The market crashed. And so did my marriage. My ex weaponized everything he could think of: threatening to sue me over my online posts, demanding rent from me because I refused to keep living in what had become passive rape, and finally pushing the one card I couldn’t gamble with — custody of my son. I gave up my rights because I couldn’t risk losing him. And then I ran. I grabbed my son, the cats, and left to seek shelter with and old friend.

She tried to help by selling my inventory, but they went for less than the cost of materials — many of my oil paintings sold just to be painted over. Two decades of work reduced to blank canvases. That broke me.

I stopped painting. I focused on getting by with admin jobs, side gigs — anything that kept us afloat.

But Web3 never really let me go. Every so often, a project, a drop or collab pulled me back in. Digital art didn’t require canvases, brushes, or months of savings. I could create with almost no cost. And beyond that — the blockchain itself became part of the inspiration. A new medium. A new playground. Suddenly, I wasn’t just making images. I was experimenting with technology, trying new formats, and finding a place to share my story with a community that actually cared.

So did NFTs ruin my art career?
Yes. They tore down everything I thought I had built.

But they also freed me. They gave me space to create without compromise, to explore without worrying about materials or galleries, and to connect my art to something bigger than just me.

Now, I still mint. I still create. Sales? Practically none — and I joke about it, because if you don’t laugh, you cry. But every piece I put out is mine. Pure, unfiltered, not made for anyone’s living room but for my own need to express.

NFTs didn’t save me financially. But they gave me something else I needed just as much: a place to share my story.

If you’d like to see the pieces I’ve created along this journey — the ones that came from the heart, not from market trends — you can explore my NFT collection. It’s not about sales anymore, but about sharing the art that kept me going.