Studio Notes : Painting the Mother
Mother's day commissions and the real value of art.
Hi. This letter is about creating pathways toward beauty and connection, especially when money feels like a barrier. It’s also about my Mother’s day commissions, and a few thoughts on the sacredness of art, its true value, and the systems that shape access.
If you feel called to a commission, I invite you to email me for more details. We can talk through the options and find a way forward that works for you.
I'm open to creating the painting below—the form stays the same, and the colors can be customized to your preference, or left to my intuition. That’s really it. I love making these. Each one is a prayer… for all the mothers out there. A reminder of our power, of the boundless, unconditional love we hold for our babies, for life, for the land. A blessing for what’s yet to come.
A few nights ago, under candlelight, I found myself painting slowly, intuitively; brush meeting pigment like breath meeting body. What emerged felt like more than an image. It felt like a prayer.
With each stroke, I thought of the mothers across this world—those who are held and nourished and those who are not, mothers who are grieving, mothers who are dreaming, mothers whose bodies carry both ache and abundance, mothers in Palestine, Congo, and Sudan, the world.
This is the kind of energy that moves through every piece.
That night, I decided to open a few spots for custom painting commissions in honor of Mother's Day. Since then, my inbox has been full, each message reminding me that these pieces are not just mine. They belong to something larger—a collective longing, a memory, a future blooming.
But just because my inbox is full doesn't mean everyone moves forward. Many people were genuinely excited about this painting; touched, resonant, ready. But once I shared the price, some realized it was beyond their reach. That's just the reality for many. And I hold that with tenderness.
As they exist now, the art world and art markets are shaped by systems we need to reimagine—systems rooted in capitalism, in assigning price as the sole measure of value. That's not the world I want to build through my work.
I never want the price of a painting to be the reason you believe it isn't meant for you. That may not be written clearly on my website yet, but it lives deeply in my heart. If you feel called to a piece, we can always explore possibilities together.
I set my prices with care, honoring my labor, my materials, my vision, my lived experience, the time, my relationship to it, and the shifting economy around us. But the value of my art has never been its price. The value lives in the way it moves you, the way it stirs meaning, the way it makes something inside you feel seen, and the way it reimagines realities.
We're taught to both associate cost with worth and keep quiet about money, to believe that only the wealthy are collectors. But that's not true here. I've sold my work for ten thousand dollars and for one hundred, and many amounts in between. I've gifted it freely. I've offered instalments and sliding scales. And I'll continue to do so.
If you want to collect a painting and money feels like a barrier, email me. Truly. There are always options: older works, payment plans, and pieces not listed online. You don't need to have millions to be a collector. You just need to care deeply.
I love the emails, the stories you share, the ways our lives brush up against one another even across screens. The economy I'm cultivating is relational. It's about reciprocity, trust, and care, not just transactions.
The traditional art market centers elitism, rewards scarcity, and often alienates both the artist and the community. It creates a false divide—between "us" and "them" between makers and collectors. But I don't believe in those lines. I believe in circles, shared spaces, and offerings that ripple outward.
My art is an act of resistance to the systems that have taken root in our culture and in our minds.
There was a time when I didn't know how to price my art at all. I worried about asking too much and about seeming inaccessible. But over the years, I've learned that valuing my art is also about valuing myself, my ancestors, my labor, and my lineage of care. That doesn't mean everyone can pay the same, but it does mean I deserve to be held in reciprocity.
At times, people have assumed that I must come from wealth—perhaps because I offer flexible ways for others to access my work. But I don't extend these options because I have abundant resources. I do it because I carry an abundance of belief in another way of being. I come from knowing exactly how it feels to deeply want, and to face the ache of basic human needs, only to find the means out of reach. And I also come from a culture of generosity. A place where you share what you have, even when it’s not much. Where there’s always a little extra folded into the offering. Where asking for one thing might bring you two, not because there’s plenty, but because there’s love.
This is not a side offering or a leisurely pursuit. It’s how I support myself and my son. It's my work, my calling, my sustenance. And still, I'll always try to find a path for those who feel a true connection to my art. Because I believe access to art, medicine, and meaning should not be shaped by systems of exclusion.
I do this not out of excess but out of a commitment to a different kind of economy rooted in kinship and enoughness.
When you collect a piece of mine, you're not just acquiring an object. You're choosing to live with something made from intuition, devotion, and a desire to bring more beauty and truth into this world.
That matters.
With love,
Vanja
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Thank you. May I, too, summon the courage and presence to step more fully into this other way of being. ♥️
beautiful pieces of art