Growing up, I was always drawing, just not where I was supposed to. Textbooks, desks, storm tunnels, walls. It usually meant getting in trouble, and most of the work didn’t last. It was temporary, or it lived on surfaces that weren’t considered a “real” canvas. I got used to letting the work go and moving on.

That stuck with me.

Now I lean into those same surfaces. Old newspapers, torn book pages, tools, anything with texture or a past life. The imperfections matter. The text that shows through, the wear, the history built into the material. Instead of fighting it, I use it as part of the piece.

Broke Canvas comes from that way of working. It’s about using what’s available, not waiting for perfect materials, and not being precious about where art is allowed to exist. There’s a connection to graffiti in that too, taking a surface and transforming it into something new, even if it wasn’t meant for it.

Coming back to art in my 30s brought me back to why I started in the first place. It was never about making money. It was about making something, anywhere, with whatever I had.

That’s what Broke Canvas means to me.