Before I forget Stories

Lessons Learned grew out of years of practice working with children in schools and hospitals—often without a map. I did not begin this work as an educator or healthcare professional, but as an artist sharing my own creative process. Over time, experience led to questions, and questions led to learning. This essay reflects that evolution. It gathers insights shaped through observation, trust, and responsibility to the children I worked alongside. It is not a set of conclusions

Cositas y tesoros que uno encuentra en una casa en la cual ya nadie está. Silencios que guardan historias, rincones que respiran memoria. Entre todo, encontré una cartita a Papá Noel escrita por el Sambito. En su letra temblorosa decía: “Papanoel, te pido 2 pistolas en estas navidades. — Jorge Lanas.” Un papelito torcido, con letras de niño aprendiendo a soñar, que para cualquiera hubiera sido basura… pero para mí por siempre será un tesoro. No sé por qué no me quedé con ese

Edina — The Artist Who Said Yes (A Story of Friendship, Courage, and the Power of Art) I met Edina Seleskovic  at The Corcoran School of Art in Washington, D.C. Our studios were side by side, and I would watch her walk past carrying her enormous sculptures with the kind of confidence only a young artist with a clear purpose possesses. Beautiful Bosnian. Tall. Brilliant. And an absolutely INCREDIBLE belly dancer — Edina stood out from the very beginning. She carried herself wi

(October 2017) When I first began working with Nicole Stott on The Space Suit Art Project , I felt as if the universe had handed me a sacred assignment. Nicole had given me four art boxes to take to children’s hospitals — each one a small vessel of color, hope, and cosmic imagination. At that time, my connections were mostly with schools, not hospitals. But I knew this mission was different — delicate, purposeful, and deeply human. I wanted to choose each location with intent

I find it funny — and fascinating — how ideas come to me. Sometimes they wake me up in the middle of the night, before dawn, like an alarm before an important trip. This time, I woke up thinking about Schopenhauer and the will. How could the thoughts of a philosopher I studied so long ago still echo inside me — strong enough to pull me out of a dream? Before I fell back asleep, deep thoughts began to unfold.I started to reflect on my own driving force — my will. I realized th

Art has always been more than expression to me — it is my path. Through creation, I connect to the deepest parts of myself — the ones that live beneath words and form. When I create, I cross the threshold between the visible and the invisible. It is there, in that quiet inner space, that I find my spiritual relief, my release, my communion. I used to think that art was something I did , but now I understand that art is the way I pray.  It is how I listen to life. Every painti

When the words began to pour out of me, I didn’t understand what was happening. There was an urgency I couldn’t contain — as if I were late for something sacred. My fingers could not type fast enough to capture the visions flashing through my mind: memories, emotions, conversations, moments I thought I had long forgotten. I called the collection “Before I Forget.”  At the time, it felt like a poetic impulse — a race against memory. But now I see how prophetic it was. Just a f

When I look back on those ten days — from the grand scale of Moscow to the tender spirit of London, to the awakening of Paris, and the quiet grace of Cologne — I see them now as a constellation. Each city, each child, each brushstroke was a point of light, and together they formed something greater than all of us: a map of healing drawn in color, courage, and connection. Through the Space for Art Foundation, our mission was to bring art into hospitals — but what I discovered

Cologne was our final stop on the World Hospital Art Tour — the closing chapter of ten unforgettable days that had taken us from Moscow to London, to Paris, and now here, to the heart of Germany. By then, our rhythm as a team had become effortless — each of us moving like parts of a single heartbeat. We had been traveling by planes, trains, and automobiles — we even missed a train right Infront of our noses! For a moment, we were like machines — running on purpose, motion, an

Paris greeted us with sunlight that danced over the rooftops, a crisp autumn breeze, and the kind of sky that makes you look up and smile. It was one of those days that already felt like a painting — soft blue tones, drifting leaves, and the hum of the city moving gracefully below. To top it off, our hotel had an unlimited supply of pink marshmallows in a beautiful glass jar — I couldn’t resist, and neither could Alena! We stuffed those marshmallows into our mouths, looking l

Before we began our visit at Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH), I learned something extraordinary: this hospital, in the heart of London, belongs to Peter Pan. In 1929, J.M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan, gifted all the rights to his beloved story to GOSH so that the boy who never grew up could forever help care for children who needed healing. Since then, every telling of Peter Pan has carried a donation to the hospital — a little bit of magic turned into care. Walking t

Moscow was larger than life. I had never felt so small—the buildings enormous, the avenues wide and powerful, the rhythm of the city both elegant and monumental. Everything felt extra grand. I remember walking through it all, feeling like a little ant discovering a giant’s world. This was our first stop on the World Hospital Art Tour with the Space for Art Foundation, and my very first international hospital visit with our team—Nicole Stott, Ian Cion, and myself—joined by UNI

In November 2018, I joined the Space for Art Foundation on our World Hospital Art Tour — a creative and humanitarian journey that took us from Moscow to London, Paris, and Cologne between November 8th and 15th.Our traveling team — Nicole Stott, Ian Cion, and myself — represented the Space for Art Foundation, bringing our Earthrise Project and Exploration Spacesuit Project to children’s hospitals across Europe. We were joined by UNITY Movement co-founder Alena Kuzmenko from Ru

Turning that corner after a really bad right turn I had made, I found myself crying like María Magdalena on a park bench near my house in Quito. To get to that park I’d had to make a right turn. I stormed out of my house in tears of anger — furious at myself for feeling small, wishing I had the body of Hulk Hogan so I could fight fair and square with my opponent: a skinny man who looked like Snoopy’s brother, Spike. In our neighborhood, everyone knows him as el pendejo — but

Mind, heart, hand, action — mind, heart, hand, action — mind, heart, hand, action. Repeat these words, and if your belief is driven by your mind , heart , hand , and action , your dreams will come true. That’s how I began my path of turning dreams into reality. Most people looked at me with doubt — “crazy artist, she is doing what she loves with no money in return” they said — but everything I did came from those liberating daydreams. After all, I am a Pisces! This exercise

I AM Conversations  was born from one of the darkest and saddest moments of my life — a time marked by the loss of my father, my brother, and later, my mother. What followed was a painful family feud, and suddenly I found myself standing in the middle of what felt like ruins — of what was left of the family I once knew. In those moments, I was fortunate to have friends and my husband by my side, holding my hand while I walked through the storm. Still, I believed that no one c

Before meeting Nicole, I already had my own initiative — a personal dream of creating art projects for children in schools around the world, so they could learn about each other’s cultures and broaden their horizons. I had absolutely no background in education, nor did I know much about school systems. Yet somehow, as if by magic and synchronicity, I found myself working with teachers from around the world. Projekt Postcard became part of several school curriculums, and soon

I don’t know exactly what happened to me — maybe it was the move to our farm. My paints, brushes, and easel are all stored away until I can find the right place to set up my studio. In the absence of these tools, I suddenly felt the need to write.I usually write while I paint, keeping a small personal journal beside me, but this time the impulse was different. I didn’t want to write about my paintings — I wanted to tell stories. And almost effortlessly, words began to flow. I

Author’s Note   These stories are not written in order, nor are they meant to be read that way. I write them as I feel them — as they surface, like memories that rise unannounced and ask to be seen. Each one carries a fragment of who I am: an artist, a wife, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a dreamer — and above all, a soul learning what it truly means to love. Some stories are about my projects — the children I’ve met through art, the journeys that have taken me around the wo