You may have noticed something curious when wandering through my gallery: most of my paintings bear the names of cities. This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a map. A very personal one.

These names are not titles in the traditional sense, they are destinations, emotional coordinates, metaphors dressed as places. Some are cities I’ve lived in. Some I’ve only passed through. Others I’ve never stepped foot in, yet they’ve walked into my life anyway, carried by a person, a feeling, a moment. Each painting becomes a passport stamp on the soul.

 

Let’s begin where I began: Haarlem.

It’s not just a city, it’s my origin story. My very first painting carries its name because, like Haarlem itself, it holds the raw beginnings of something beautiful. Splashes of blue, green, gold, red, and white dance together in chaotic harmony, much like my early attempts at finding my visual voice. You’ll find the letter “A” subtly tucked in, my quiet nod to my parents, whose love and names both begin with that letter. Haarlem is family, foundation, and fearless experimentation all at once. It’s where the paint first met the canvas and didn’t ask for permission.

 

Then there’s Caracas.

I’ve never been. But someone from there gave me something priceless: belief. In me, in my art. So I painted that feeling. The rough texture might remind you of lunar stone, something distant and uninhabitable, but then, at the center, a burst of orange radiates warmth, passion, and the kind of creative fire that only encouragement can spark. Caracas is a thank you note in paint, a reminder that one person’s faith can echo louder than a crowd.

 

Venice drifts in next, quietly and elegantly.

Two imperfect circles float like thoughts half-caught. Their shapes are not bridges, but they feel like them, arches between moments, between people. My sister lived there during her medical residency, and I think this painting is more about her than the city itself. Or maybe it’s about both: the way certain places become part of our emotional architecture. The colors move like morning light over water and stone ephemeral, gentle, intentional. Venice is memory, connection, and the soft geometry of love.

 

And then we have Cairo.

A city I’ve never known but somehow remember. Maybe from dreams. Maybe from lives past. This painting is all sun and stone and whispers. Mustard yellows, crimson reds, and earthy browns collide to form a surface that feels ancient, like it’s been waiting to be uncovered. Accidental shapes, a bird, a cat, a heart, appeared as if by magic. I traced them, not to explain, but to honor their arrival. Cairo isn’t just a place; it’s a myth, a symbol, a heartbeat written in color. It’s what happens when memory and imagination shake hands.

 

Because cities, like art, hold stories. They collect lives, mistakes, beginnings, and transformations. They are containers of chaos and beauty, much like a canvas. When I name a piece after a city, I’m naming a feeling, a person, a fragment of time wrapped in geography. I’m giving you a key. Not to unlock the painting, but to unlock something in yourself.

 

I don’t expect you to see Caracas or Cairo when you look at these works. I hope you see your Caracas. Your Haarlem. The cities that built you, broke you, or let you be reborn.

Art, after all, isn’t about where we are.

It’s about what we carry with us when we go.

 

→ Step into the full Cities Collection and see where each painting takes you.

 

Your next destination might already be waiting on this website.