Cut Like a Diamond: Not Training for Danger. Training for Art.

There is a moment, diving deep into the blue, where time slips away.
Where the eyes of a shark meet yours, and you remember—
This is life.
Not the safe life. The real one.

I’ve walked beside rhinoceros on African soil.
I’ve rappelled off the Gunks, legs trembling, heart roaring.
I’ve bungee-jumped in Whistler, plunging into the unknown with laughter and prayer.
Every moment—sweaty-palmed, wind-whipped, breathless—was my training.

Not training for danger.
Training for art.

Because what is painting if not a plunge into the unknown?
Pushing paint around canvas can feel terrifying.
But I've flirted with death. I've danced with fear.
So rejection? Someone not liking a piece?
It’s a paper tiger. And I am not afraid.

I learned this:
The only things worth fearing are the ones that matter.
Life. Death.
The safety of those we love.
All else?
It’s just the sacred fire polishing the diamond.

I’ve stood under the African sun at the Graff estate, where diamonds are not just mined—they’re revered.
There, I tasted what true quality feels like: not opulence, but integrity.
And that’s the diamond I seek to become.

I am not interested in being “flashy.”
I want to be clear.
Pure.
Tiffany-grade.
The kind of diamond that catches the light of truth and refracts it into wonder.

Painting is my clearing.
Each stroke a surrender.
Each canvas a confession.

If fear tries to whisper, I return to the reef, the cliff, the lion’s breath.
And I remember—I’ve already chosen this sacred, terrifying, exhilarating path.
To be an artist of integrity.
A diamond in the rough, ever willing to be polished, cut, and revealed.