The art of my life looks like brushstrokes painted in gentle rhythms, a canvas ever-evolving, colourful yet softened by the whispers of grace. It resembles a tapestry woven with threads of joy, sorrow, struggle, and redemption, all blending into patterns I couldn’t have imagined or planned myself.

It’s found in the tiny, unnoticed details: the fragrance of morning tea that signals a new beginning, the laughter shared across a dinner table, and the quiet tears that cleanse my soul when the world feels too heavy. The art of my life looks like imperfections, those beautiful cracks through which love seeps in and hope blossoms anew.

Sometimes the strokes are bold and vivid, passionate bursts of creativity, times when my heart is fully alive with purpose and vision. Other times they’re delicate and tentative, formed by gentle surrender, the humbling recognition of my own fragility. Each stroke, each shade and texture, carries its own story, telling of journeys through valleys of shadow and mountains of joy.

Above all, the art of my life looks like surrender — learning to trust the Master Artist, whose hands have shaped every season with infinite love. It’s discovering beauty in the ordinary, finding peace in the unfinished, and cherishing moments of stillness as much as moments of vibrant action.

My life, like art, is a reflection of grace — a masterpiece painted by a Creator who sees beyond the surface and gently guides my hand, inviting me daily into deeper creativity, courage, and freedom.