IN THE BEGINNING

I was never good at writing. Especially when it comes to writing about myself. I would rather read hundreds of pages in a book than to write an essay. I’d stumble upon my words or I’d overthink too much about what to write next. Ironic isn’t it? Coming from someone who decided to start a blog. Yet, here I am.  Pushing past my barriers and striding out of my comfort zone. But let’s not get carried away. Let’s start from the beginning.

On the outskirts of Cap-Haïtien, Haiti, just a few minutes away from Bois Caïman, stood a gated one story house that was surrounded by myriads of tropical trees and colorful flowers. It was the home of a small family of four and the provenance of many life-long memories and childhood secrets.

A shy and quirky little girl was raised in that house. She would spend her time climbing the mango trees in the summer and lay on the roof morning and night just to let her imagination run wild. Her mother would call her name to assist in the kitchen but she would be nowhere to be found. Sometimes she’d purposely hide just to immerse herself in a book or to create scenarios in her mind while doodling in her notebooks.

She was always curious. Always questioning the world around her. 

She was always lost in her thoughts.  Always wondering about what else may lay beyond that gate. 

In 2010 after the drastic 7.0 magnitude earthquake struck my country, my world completely shifted.  Moving to the States was one of my greatest challenges, I can still remember the pain I literally felt in my stomach right before boarding my flight. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the breakfast I ate that morning.  

Maybe deep down I knew I was leaving part of myself behind. 

I was not only leaving part of my family including my parents but the world I always knew. 

I was 13 years old when I moved to Florida. Although I was born in Miami and visited the country a few times, the American culture was completely foreign to me. I remember not being able to fully understand the English language and to rely on my instincts in order to find my way around. I remember reading an English phrasebook every night and placing it under my pillow right before I fell asleep just so I can memorize my new vocabulary. I remember being made fun of because of my strange accent and the way I dressed (to be honest, back then your girl’s fashion sense needed a divine intervention but that’s not the point), so we’ll move on.

This was also the first time I was actually conscious of my race. I felt like a fish out of water. At school, in some cases, I would find myself as the only black individual in a room. A few of my classmates were friendly, but quite often, I’d notice some of them avoided to look me in the eye or tried not to acknowledge me.  I remember feeling invisible and as if my intelligence was being questioned. 

Slowly, I began to lose my voice. 

For a while, I felt like I was floating. Just existing. Slowly falling into depression and anxiety. I began to lose sight of who I was. I felt like a part of myself was trapped and another part of me was pounding and screaming behind this wall “Christie! Wake up!” but I couldn’t hear a thing. It was an endless and exhausting cycle where I wasn’t rightfully equipped yet to escape from. 

In high school, my ESL teacher (Ms. Denizard, if you’re reading this, just know I’m so so grateful that we’ve crossed paths) noticed how much I would randomly sketch in my notebooks so she encouraged me to start painting by offering me as a gift a set of art supplies. I was beyond grateful but also really excited to try something new. So on a Sunday afternoon, I decided to use my new paint brushes and I created a masterpiece!

Eh. Wrong. It was a total fail. 

Honestly, I wished I still had my first  painting to show you all.

“H-I-D-E-O-U-S.” That’s all I could think about after creating it. So I said, “Christie, maybe painting is not your thing.”Since then I never picked up a paint brush. Then three years later, fast forward to my first year of college, as I was desperately searching for a creative outlet to alleviate my mental breakdowns, I started painting officially in 2016... and y’all know the rest.

Moral of the story : Don’t strike yourself out on your first try. Try. Try. Try Again. 

It’s in the undefined moments that life tends to surprise us...or we may even surprise ourselves.

Painting to me is a form of therapy. It keeps me sane. I believe it’s a gift from God. I find myself in my own little world where the possibilities are endless. The canvas is where I let my creativity flow. Oftentimes, I would start with an idea then once I start applying it onto this blank surface, it becomes something else. I often think of life in that sense. You can  never truly know for certain what’s coming next. Each brushstroke, each color no matter how dark, how light or how bright contributes in their own  way to create a true work of art.

Art has always been my passion. It is my way of seeing the world in a new way and has become my voice. I always say that my paintings are my babies because honestly they are a part of me. I spend a lot of time nurturing and trying to perfect every single detail. Sometimes, I would even stare at my unfinished pieces for months just to figure out other ways to improve in order to build a body of work that speaks to who I am.

Everything that I choose to do and feature in my work is a reflection of my life, my experiences, and my aspiration to keep on exploring and pushing my limits. Growing up in Haiti has taught me more than I can hope for. It enabled me to imagine how to explore beyond my circumstances.  It has taught me the joy of working with the things that I do have rather than focusing on what I do not have. It has taught me how to dream in colors.

In this blog to describe my artistic process and to also highlight some lifestyle conversations. Many times we tend to assume that one has to be extremely talented or artistic in order to be creative. But I believe that you don’t have to be a painter or a musician to tap into your creativity. Being creative is innate inside every human being. Your life can also be an art. The way you carry yourself, the way you serve in your local community, the way you spend time with your friends and family, the way you come up with a caption for your next IG post (yeah, I see you), and even the little things you do when you wake up or before you go to bed. It’s all a work in progress.