…as a young artist going against the grain…
The art in my 20s often personalized religious artifacts as a way to grapple with identity, meaning, and the cultural weight those symbols carry. The act of taking something universal—like the cross, steeped in centuries of religious significance—and infusing it with personal context, say, the rebellious energy of youth or the visceral pull of red, is a way to claim ownership over it. It’s less about the artifact itself and more about what it becomes in my hands: a mirror or canvas for my defiance, or even a bridge between the sacred and the everyday.
This ritual of personalization tends to emerge from a few instincts. First, there’s the drive to provoke—controversy stirs reaction, and reaction means I am seen (egocentric). For a fine art student like me, that visibility can feel like a lifeline to creativity, especially when I was still finding my voice. Religious symbols, loaded as they are, are lightning rods for that. Second, it’s a way to wrestle with inherited meaning. The cross isn’t just a shape; it’s a story, a doctrine, a power structure. By reworking it, I and those like me are not just borrowing its resonance—I was challenging it, subverting it, or making it mine. Think of artists like Andres Serrano with Piss Christ or Francis Bacon’s fractured crucifixions—they’re not just using the symbol; they’re interrogating it.
Then there’s the contrarian streak. I thrived on pushing against what’s given, and religious artifacts, often tied to authority or tradition, are ripe for that. Pairing the cross with red—blood, passion, anger—might’ve been me saying something louder than the symbol alone could.
It was a rite of passage for me: take what’s untouchable, mark it with my own language, and see what it revealed about me.
From the crude towards a sacred and creative unfolding:
The shifting process of my spiritual journey…
Since becoming a Catholic, my faith has brought about a profound shift in my relationship with art, especially in how I engage with religious symbols like the cross and the color red.
Before my conversion, the use of these symbols were a form of rebellion—a way to claim them, twist them, and make them speak my own language, perhaps with a contrarian or provocative edge. That’s a bold move, and one that many artists use to challenge norms or assert their individuality. But since becoming Catholic, I reframed those choices. Suddenly, the cross isn’t just a cultural object or a canvas for subversion—it’s sacred, tied to my faith. It is Jesus dying on the cross for my sins, and has become a source of reverence or inspiration.
This shift shaped my own artistic expression. The cross has become a symbol of deep reverence of God’s love for humanity. It has soften into a conversation both personal and universal – a spiritual journey that examines the quieter introspection of God’s unwavering love in Jesus.
Thank you so much for reading my reflections on my journey with art, faith, and personal growth.
I pray and hope the cross becomes more than just a symbol on a canvas. May it grow into a guide, pointing each toward a deeper understanding of oneself and a connection to something boundless.
God bless you and may others experience the sacred, creative unfolding.
Be Inspired! 
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