Her eyes are soft and her smile is safe. I recognize her immediately, but it is the accumulation behind her soft eyes that holds the truth, the quiet endurance of pain and loss.

She once believed growth required complete erasing. But the canvas refuses to lie. The depth comes from contrast. The darker strokes give weight to the lighter ones. What felt like damage has become dimensions. I don’t look at her and see a woman who escaped pain; I see a woman who metabolized it, who allowed it to change her shape without shrinking her spirit.

She takes up space unapologetically. For so long she tried to make herself smaller to be safer, quieter to be loved, simpler to be understood. The painting does not ask permission for her to exist. It declares that through her endurance she deserves visibility.

The painting is not a monument to her suffering, but to her continuity. The pain did not end her story; it edited it, sharpened it, gave it a voice. Growth is not the absence of scars, but the courage to let them be seen—transformed into a priceless work of art.

PatriciaLincoln is dedicated to the memory of my mother (Patricia) and brother (Lincoln).  Your Legacy lives on.