The story is somewhat amusing. I recently went viral online, which attracted a lot of random followers interested in my work. I received strange commission requests, some of which I was actually keen to pursue, but none materialized because nobody could afford them. However, there was one request that stood out to me: a painting of a monarch butterfly. This inspired me to create a new painting, something fresh and magical that I had never attempted before.

This painting is titled "Kaleidoscope," which is the term for a group of butterflies. I stumbled upon this fact online while I was working on the piece, and it felt like a perfect fit. I'm not typically someone who creates art without a deeper meaning, so I reflected on what was going through my mind during its creation. The name and the way it was turning out resonated with me. I've been facing numerous small challenges in my life. This year has been more difficult than I anticipated, filled with high levels of stress, anxiety, and guilt that were affecting my well-being. Despite having everything I need, I had to make some tough decisions that left me feeling guilty.

Kalediscope encourages us to liberate our minds from life's minor struggles. It involves releasing what we cannot control, trusting the process, and realizing that everything is as it should be. We must learn from our challenges. Freeing our minds from worry helps us navigate life, recognizing that things could be worse and that there is indeed much to be grateful for.

This new artwork is an acrylic painting depicting a group of butterflies in a flower garden. It offers a whimsical and childlike escape, reminiscent of a nostalgic memory from our childhood. Let it serve as a reminder to savor the present moment, free from the stress of the past or the uncertainties of the future.

I was able to smoke weed without them ever asking if I was high, even though I clearly was. Get black out drunk and stay somewhere random.. only to lie and say I was at Ali’s house and her parents were home. Never a question about it. My mom partied so hard I don’t think she cared if I was partying too. And even when she went through sobriety she was still focused on herself. By the time she actually made a point to care it was too late.

I was already dropping out of senior year. Working full time. Using my money to buy hotels to party in for me and my friends. I lost the chance to have a chance in life. I don’t blame my mom, but I do wish she would have cared more. We make our own choices in life. I just wish someone cared more.

It’s not easy being a teenager and without any guidance we end up lost to make choices we don’t understand. Out of fun I chose to party. I chose to drop out. I chose to not care. And maybe it was because that’s what I seen.

I’m grateful I didn’t end up on the streets. My therapist told me it’s very rare that someone with my upbringing doesn’t end up on the streets. She was fascinated by my story and the person I am today. Maybe I just needed that to learn how to be a good person regardless. How to be grateful for the little things. How to be independent.

Life has a weird way of reaching us things. It’s about coming back to yourself even when you get lost over and over again. There’s no rules to it. We just get older and we learn more. That’s all that needed to make it in life

But survival isn’t the same as healing.

Art became the space where I could finally breathe. I paint because I need to. Because my soul asks me to. Each brushstroke is part of my healing...a way to release, to process, to reconnect with myself.

My work is abstract, often rooted in nature. I don’t like to follow rules when I paint. I create what I want, when I want, and how I feel it. That freedom matters. That’s where the truth lives.

Nature is a huge part of my “why.” The mossy forests, the crashing waves, the stillness in the trees, they’ve held me through my darkest moments. Nature reflects back the calm I crave and the wildness I carry. That duality shows up in my work, too.

I paint for the trauma survivors. For the ones still navigating the shadows. For the people who’ve been through hell and are still standing. And I paint for the healers...

the therapists, the space-holders, the quiet warriors who help others find their way.

My art is for anyone who’s trying to make it through, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Because healing isn’t linear. But it is possible. And sometimes, it begins with color.

This little space saved me.

It’s where I go to breathe when life feels loud — where I trade overstimulation and responsibilities for stillness and paint. Sometimes it’s chaotic and full of half-finished canvases stacked against the wall. Other days, the light hits just right, and it feels like magic. Either way, it’s mine. It holds my process, my peace, my mess.

I don’t always have a plan when I start painting. In fact, most of my favorite pieces come from moments when I let go of control and just let the colors move. I’ll put on music (usually something instrumental or moody), light a candle if I remember, and just… begin.

The energy in this space is emotional. I’ve cried here. I’ve danced here. I’ve released years of grief, fear, and exhaustion through brushstrokes and palette knife swipes. This is where my abstract paintings are born — in silence, in softness, in survival.

Each of my original oil paintings starts as a feeling. Sometimes I sit down because I’m sad or anxious. Other times I feel inspired and just want to see what happens. There’s no formula. It’s a relationship — between me, the canvas, and whatever’s stirring inside me.

I think that’s what I love most about abstract painting — it doesn’t ask me to make sense. It just asks me to be honest.

I’ve learned to embrace the imperfections in both my space and my process. The paint stains on the floor, the brushes that never get fully cleaned, the canvases I cover and recover until they finally speak. All of it is part of the story.

So no, my studio isn’t picture-perfect. But it’s real. It’s where I heal. It’s where I remember who I am.

And maybe — just maybe — you don’t need a fancy setup to make something meaningful. Maybe you just need a corner of your world where you’re allowed to feel everything.

Thanks for stepping into mine.

I recall my first sale: $30 to a customer in Italy via Etsy. I didn't profit from it and ended up spending over $100 on shipping. However, that sale inspired me to learn everything necessary to market myself online, find my audience, and stay committed. For the past few years, it has been a side gig for me. While working full-time as a waitress, selling my original creations has provided some extra fun money, which I've used for vacations and additional supplies.

In 2026, I decided to transition to full-time work gradually. I'm focusing on generating passive income from my work, which will reduce the need to sell many originals. I'm planning to introduce prints and start a print club. Additionally, I'm preparing for more art shows in the future. I have set goals, and with my upcoming move to Idaho, I'm taking a break from creating art to concentrate on other activities that will help me achieve full-time status.

If you want to support me I’m sharing my link to my store. All my work is affordable and reasonable. Thank you again

shop now

I felt so alone in my head.. so lost in the world. That the drugs and alcohol helped me feel like someone I wasn’t. It took me away from the person I didn’t want to be.

I used sex as a form of happiness. Not caring about myself and not caring who used me. I’d get lost after being out with friends. Stay out all night with random people. Scaring my mom when I’d come home in the morning.

But I didn’t care. That continued for years. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed feeling nothing. I enjoyed the addiction of the rush. Not thinking about the consequences. Not thinking of the guilt I’d feel later on in life.

That rush took my anxiety away. It took my depression away. The combination of it all let me high. So I’d never have to feel a thing if I didn’t want to.. even for a night

Brianna would cry all day long and my mom or dad were never around and well my grandparents didn’t do much. I remember the first time I climbed into her crib. I just lad with her while she fell asleep.

My relationship with Brianna was always very strong. We did everything together.. we even peed on the same toilet together. I helped her get potty trained. I helped feed her. I felt like I always needed to take care of her. I was her protector.

After she arrived at Marilyn’s when our mom gave us up… and finding out who Marilyn really was( there is a story on her before this one) I did everything to make it so Brianna wouldn’t get beaten. Of course I couldn’t keep it all the time but I would take the blame for everything so she can stay unharmed.

My sister grew up with so much fear..of everything. Afraid to cross the street. Fried to be alone. She’s never really learned how to take care of herself. She never really learned how to grow up. Not having anyone to help us in that area contributed to that. But she has had a harder time growing than I have. I’ve always been the independent one and she has been very dependent on anyone who will take care of her.

I often think that I went through a very small window of a time where I didn’t have chaos around. But she was born into it. She was born without a dad already who was in prison by that time. A mom who just didn’t care anymore. And all she had was me.. a child who felt the need to care for her even though I didn’t know what I was doing.

But I still to this day feel that need to help her and protect her. Our bond is so strong and when we go just a week without seeing each other we both can feel it.

Maybe it’s the trauma but there will never be anyone who knows me better than her. Who just understands who I am.. and why I am the way I am. Because we share that. We share a bond that only close siblings understand.

This is a story I’ve shared in pieces before…but I want to tell it more fully here.

Exit was painted at the very beginning of my therapy journey.

My husband had just bought me the art supplies I needed to truly begin. Fresh canvases. New brushes. Paint that felt like possibility. I had made a few smaller pieces before this. I had experimented with abstract work. I was learning how to move emotion through color.

But this one was different.

This was the first painting that carried my story.

At the time, I was struggling deeply with anxiety. Not the surface kind. Not the kind you can easily explain away.

It was a specific feeling I’ve had since I was little

a sudden urge to leave,

a sense that I don’t belong,

an overwhelming need to run away and be alone.

It would come out of nowhere.

Even in safe rooms.

Even around safe people.

I couldn’t explain it. And because I couldn’t explain it, I assumed something was wrong with me.

When I started therapy, we began talking about my childhood ,about instability, about being given up, about not having someone consistently there to keep me safe. We talked about what it does to a nervous system when safety isn’t steady.

And my therapist said something that changed everything:

“That feeling isn’t random. It’s protection.”

When you grow up without stability, your body learns survival before it learns belonging. Your nervous system stays alert. It prepares to leave before it can be left.

That urge to exit?

It was my body trying to keep me safe.

For years I thought I was just “too much” or “too sensitive” or socially awkward because anxiety made it hard to even answer simple questions about myself. I never understood why normal conversations felt threatening sometimes.

Learning why I am the way I am was a relief I can’t fully describe.

It felt like stepping out of a dark hallway and realizing there had been a light switch the whole time.

That’s what Exit represents.

In the painting, she is crying ,but not from despair.

They are tears of recognition.

Tears of release.

Tears of finally understanding.

The “exit” isn’t running away anymore.

It’s exiting confusion.

Exiting shame.

Exiting the belief that you are broken.

It’s the moment you realize your reactions were adaptations.

That your anxiety had roots.

That your nervous system was doing its best.

And that healing is possible.

This painting is deeply personal to me. But it’s also for anyone who has carried childhood trauma quietly. For anyone living with CPTSD. For anyone who has ever felt like they don’t belong and didn’t know why.

There is light there.

It just takes time.

Exit is still available, but whether it sells or not, it will always mark the moment I began moving forward ,not by escaping, but by understanding.

Thank you for being here in this space where I can share more than just finished canvases. Thank you for witnessing the healing behind the work.

With love,

Ginger

Ginger Lianne

Abstract paintings rooted in healing, memory, and freedom

https://www.gingerlianneart.com/product-page/exit

And he never did.

That morning I called him and told asked why he broke his promise and he said “what do you think ginger?” And I hung up.. went to our apartment that we shared with his mom and sisters and packed up all my things before he can see me. I was a blubbering mess and his mom and sisters helped me and apologized for everything. They knew it was time as well.

I was so scared but felt so free. I was lucky I had my mom now who would help me through it all. It was just us 3 living together. Taking care of my baby boy. I was ready to be single and take care of my son the way he deserved. But sharing him with joe was a nightmare.

It was constant fighting. He was still as selfish as he was when we were together. He was no help at all. Barely took him. And when he did he was always leaving him with someone random. And I still didn’t take him to court. I’ve never believed in putting my child through the system like that. Or putting a man in a position to be forced to pay me or take care of their child. If he didn’t wanna help.. I didn’t need it. I didn’t need his money. I was making my own money and I was doing well.

I think being single for him at first meant to be with a bunch of women. That passed and he came around. Started taking him once or twice a week. That’s when my freedom kicked in. And I started hanging out with the wrong girls. Those couple of days of freedom and being single would drag me down a road I wasn’t prepared for. The drinking became heavier. The drugs started. I wasn’t someone who drank or did drugs when I had my child. But on those days of freedom.. I’d go wild. That’s when the problems started. Those couple of days I’d black out. I’d drink so much I’d end up in places with people I didn’t know. Doing things I wasn’t proud of the next day.

But it was almost like this feeling of not caring. I didn’t care about myself. That drinking make me feel good. It helped me be someone I could never be sober(or so I thought) I was so mentally messed up that the alcohol helped me numb it. Bar hopping with my friend Kristen as we met guys and got free drinks all the time. It was fun for us.

But it was dangerous. And I put myself in dangerous situations. That went on for a couple of years. I didn’t date. Didn’t have a relationship. I let men use me because I didn’t care about what happened. I only cared about numbing what I felt inside. The alcohol and drugs did that for me. The distraction of partying was an escape from all the things I held in as a child.

When we’re young and we have none to teach us.. we make bad choices not realizing the consequences. I wish someone would have stopped me. Or someone would have helped me. But everyone let me keep doing the things I was doing. I was fun and everyone liked that fun ginger. She can drink all night and keep going. But I was lost and I would stay lost for a while….

Stay tuned for the next part

It wasn’t until I going into labor that I knew we would not make it much longer. I remember having bad contractions and wanting to epidural even though I said I was going to try and not do it. He got so upset at me and called me selfish and left me with his sister alone. This very rough moment I was going through gave me anxiety because he was now upset with me.

Unfortunately that pregnancy ended up in an emergency c section which I was deeply afraid of. But it went smooth and Edward was born and it was one of my great best moments in my life. He was beautiful and healthy.

For the next couple of days we were in the hospital and everyone came to see us and it was wonderful. The day came for us to take Edward home and Joe told me his friends and their kids were driving up to stay with us for a couple of days to celebrate. I was so tired and so scared of bringing a baby home I just wanted to be alone with us 3 getting to learn how take care of a newborn. Getting to know each other . I told him I didn’t want that..and again I was called a selfish bitch.

He didn’t help me in the car..and I remember the nurse looking at him strangely. He was so upset at me. He cussed me out the whole ride home. As I was crying apologizing.. it didn’t matter. We got home and they were there and I couldn’t sleep in my bed because the let his friends and their family sleep there. They partied all night while I stayed in the room alone with Edward..not knowing what I was doing. But it was the first time I’m didn’t feel alone. I had Edward and this love I felt was stronger than I’d ever known.. and we got to know each-other and I talked to him. We slept. It was the moment I knew I was going to leave Joe. I just didn’t know when or how.

I think we as women sometimes forget who we are in a relationship. Being so young, having children with the wrong person changes you. Although I love my son… he didn’t get the life he deserved because his parents would end up fighting for most of life.

Stay tuned for the next chapter…

I’ve always been afraid of anger and conflict..mostly due to my past childhood trauma of anger meant something bad was going to happen. I’ve been the type of share my negative opinions with others. To share my political beliefs w…

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I remember the first night I should have ran. Although I did run that night.. we were at a gathering with our friends and we were drinking. Lots of drinking and smoking. I had him take a picture of me and my girlfriends. When we all posed one of my friends kissed me on the lips for the picture. I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t think he thought anything of it as we have done that plenty of times before( when we were friends). I couldn’t tell you whose fault it was but he immediately got this face of anger. And I asked him what was wrong and he quietly told me “ fuck off bitch this shit is over”

The alcohol didn’t help as I instead of running like I should have.. I needed to know what was wrong. He won’t speak to me..and he was my ride home, as we’re very far from where I lived. I kept begging him to tell me..begging him not to leave me already.

He finally told me and I apologized more than once and by now I was crying heavily. Yelling at him to forgive me. He was calling me names..horrible names. As I still kept begging him. I ended leaving.. as I mentioned before it was not walking distance home but I did walk home at 2 in the morning. He followed me and we argued the whole way home. 3 hours of walking.

Our first night as a couple to the world. That was our first together.

He eventually forgave me and we made up.

The relationship was already doomed. That first night told me everything I needed to know about what the next 6 years were going to be like.

We sometimes don’t see what people are like. With someone who has suffered trauma like I did I didn’t see the red flags. We are always dodging those damn things to be in love.

This relationship got worse. Years of mental abuse. Years of him being controlling of who I could be friends with..who I could be. What I could wear. Where I can go. I think about it and how much I loved him. In between the hurt and chaos I still seen the man I called my best friend. I still chased that person everyday because we had amazing times together too. We got along great when it wasn’t bad. We had a child together.

But that’s an illusion. Those good times aren’t real. They were fake in my mind to make it seem normal. Love like that is never normal. And it would take everything in me and us to leave each other… and eventually we would break.

Stay tuned for the next part…

I met Joe through this boy. Joe was his step brother. I didn’t know yet but he would be my next obsession. My next painful experience I’d have to endure that would break me for years to come.

You don’t realize what people are like until you really get to know them.

Joe was my best friend for 4 years. While I navigated the other relationship of pain I was letting happen. He would be there listening and talking to me..helping me through whatever I needed. For a little while I seen him as a brother I never had. Never feeling a thing for him more. We did everything together. Everyday we hung out. Smoked weed in the parks while he sang and played his acoustic guitar. We just enjoyed each other company as friends.

It was one night of heavy drinking with his family did it go a different route. A route we were not expecting. That route was a bad idea. But it could not be stopped after that. We came together in a different way. The feelings of attraction swarmed over us and took my mind over I didn’t even have time to stop it.

Trying to figure out how we felt and what we were took some time. We hid our relationship from our friends and family for months. A fun little secret we both enjoyed. Hooking up and pretending to be friends. We were having fun. It was playful and innocent…at first.

My jealousy got the best of me seeing him flirt with other girls. Even though I swore I didn’t love him. I did. How could you not fall in love with someone you’re sleeping with for months who also happens to be your best friend? It was impossible as a young woman.

It was then that we decided to be a couple. And it wasn’t long after that…that he would completely change into someone I didn’t know. Someone scary. Someone I would be afraid of for 6 years..and afraid of leaving for 6 years….

Stay tuned for the next part

Me..never drinking and didn’t have a plan to all of sudden felt that pressure. The pressure to look cool. I was 15. My first party and it was a rager. My turn coming up and I was so nervous. The butterflies in my stomach were about to burst out of me. Not even thinking I just opened my mouth. Never tasting alcohol before I got a chug of some night red cinnamon tasting drink. It was strong in my throat. Almost hard to swallow. Breathing through my nose, I did it. I had my first drink.

And to my surprise it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I then decided to have one beer. While I watched my friends get drunk.. I did stay as sober as I can that night. That 1 shot and 1 beer would be the start of my drinking habits. I let the demon in and from there on it would be my favorite thing to escape with.

I remember thinking how excited I was that I now can drink like my friends without the fear of the first time.

I would go on to drink like that but each time a little more. And my first blackout happened in a bottle of jack daniels. Where I then would end up on a toilet throwing up that horrible liquor.

That didn’t stop me though. Because at 15 my body could handle it. I could get sick and have hangover and go on with my day. Drinking was my friend. It was the only thing in the world that made me comfortable to be an extrovert. To be someone else. To not be shy. And I liked that girl. She was fun and spontaneous. She could say how she felt and do things she wouldn’t normally be able to do. That ginger is who I chased every time. That was my addiction. Not the alcohol exactly.. but the girl I was. The feeling I felt. She was free from her pain. She was free from her anxiety. Free from her mind.

My first few boyfriends were just close friends I’d have conversations over the phone. Back then we actually talked on home phones..no texting. Just real conversations. For hours. I always enjoyed a good conversation.

It wasn’t until I was about 15 that I had my first kiss. With a guy who was much older than me. Which at that time was pretty normal. I dated a lot of older guys. They were always around 18 or 19…sometimes 20. And I would always fall so hard for them. Again..yearning for that true love.

Boys didn’t ever want to pursue me for long term. I wasn’t that type of girl I guess..I wasn’t considered the pretty one of my friends group. I was more like the one that was there, and willing. Willing to make out and pretend I didn’t care.

It was such a weird age to be a girl. That age between 15 and 17. Life gets hard. You want to be liked. You want to be lusted over. You want to be pretty and popular. You want to fit in. I wasn’t really any of those things. I was just the cool chill quiet girl. The second choice. And I was so naive that I was okay with that.

I’d push away the nice boys.. the boys that actually liked me for the ones who never gave me the time of the day…. There was one boy in particular..his name was Josh. And he would engulf my every thought from 12 to 20.

Josh was 2 years older than me. He has blonde bleached tips in his hair. And always had earphones in..listening to my favorite band at the time incubus. He was a guitar player. And he was everything I always dreamed of.

Except he had one flaw.. he liked to party. Hard. And he would be the start of my downfall. The start of crushing soul. Because for a girl that young to fall so hard…she will do anything to make a boy lover her….

Stay tuned for the next part of this story

When I wrote to you earlier this week about layers, I was thinking of more than just paint.

I began on a day when I felt completely fractured. I remember standing in my little studio corner with a brush in my hand, unable to decide where to start. My mind was noisy, filled with thoughts of everything I should be doing,motherhood, marriage, art, all pulli…

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When I began freedom to be yourself ,I wasn’t thinking about composition or color theory. I was th…

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And as I got a little older and we got back from Marilyn’s..we started living in garages. Garages of peoples homes that they just let us live in because we had nowhere to go.

Some of these people I didn’t even know. They were just friends of my mom or uncle. One of the garages has a bathroom installed. It was always cold. Always dark. But I loved it because it allowed me and my mom and my sister to be together. (Even if she wasn’t there all the time)

And I remember moving from that garage to another garage. And I always wondered how did we get away from living in these garages of peoples houses?

We lived in the second one with my mom and uncle as well..only I was becoming a teenager. And it was a small studio space that we managed to fit a bunk bed and a couch and all the things to make it feel real. We didn’t have a kitchen sink or anything to cook on. We washed our dishes in the bathroom.

We had a little fridge with the necessities in it. That was the only place I felt like was a home. That was cozy. That we stayed in for a while. It was where all my fond memories happened. Where I met my best friends. Friends that didn’t judge us for living in a garage.

That time of our life there were no adults around. Almost never. We took care of ourselves. So we went wild. I suppose that’s a reason for why my teen years ended up the way they were.

When you have no adults around to teach you right from wrong. To talk to you..to listen to you..at the ripe age of 13…you’re bound to make decisions purely from experience. You do things that don’t make sense. You stop caring about school. You learn from your friends. From the streets.

And as a 13 year old girl.

Those streets are dangerous….

Stay tuned for the next chapter

This painting, Hope, was born out of that tension. The sky carries the weight of storm clouds, shadows of uncertainty, grief, and fear. Yet through it all, the sun bursts forth in vibrant color, breaking open the grey with a brilliance that cannot be contained. Its light dances across the ocean waves, reminding us that even when life feels turbulent, beauty is still there, waiting to be seen.

The ocean in this piece represents resilience. The tide keeps moving, endlessly steady, even when storms rage above. To me, the waves are a mirror of our own healing, sometimes crashing, sometimes calm, but always carrying us forward. The shoreline glows with light, as though whispering, You’ve made it this far. Don’t stop now.

Hope is not loud. It does not always arrive in grand gestures or dramatic moments. Sometimes, it’s the quiet reminder in your heart, the gentle color behind the clouds, the shimmer that reflects across the water at just the right time. It’s in the breath you take after crying. It’s in the small step you make toward healing. It’s in the light you carry, even when you can’t see it yourself.

When I painted this, I thought about the people who feel like they are walking through storms, those who carry scars that no one else can see. I wanted this piece to be a reminder that storms are not forever. Light will always find a way through. You are not alone, and you are not lost. The very act of holding on, of believing that something better is possible, is what keeps us alive. That is the power of hope.

My wish is that when you look at this painting, you feel the warmth of the sun breaking through for you, too. A reminder that healing is possible, joy is real, and light is always on its way.

✨ If this piece speaks to you, I’d love to hear what hope looks like in your own journey. Share your reflections in the comments or pass this along to someone who might need a reminder today.

www.gingerlianneart.com

I knew I liked girls at about 7. It’s the gender I like first before boys. It was comfortable. It was easy and natural for me to want to be with a girl. And I know what you’re thinking..7 is such a young age to think like that. But again I was exposed to that type of thing at 4. (If you can catch my drift)

In second grade I had my first girl crush. And boy crush. Simultaneously. And she liked me back. And we had this little girl relationship.

It’s a strange thing to write about because I understood my feelings and they felt valid.

I grew up though confused about what that meant. I grew up falling for boys. It wasn’t until my early 20s did I start to explore the other part of me that I kept hidden. This insatiable obsession with women.

It was then that I decided my sexuality. I was bi. And I always have been.

And letting that out into the world was such a release. It’s hidden from certain family but it’s been part of who I am since I was a little girl.

It’s still very much apart of me now. Even as a married woman I am still very much bisexual.

….stay tuned for the next chapter