Fairuza Painted.

fairuza painted.

then she painted some more.

the sun rose high in the sky and still, she painted.

it was as if the chirping birds, scurrying foxes, and general lack of hustle and bustle unleashed some death grip that the city had on her creative muse. ideas flooded out faster than she could afford the canvas to capture them. had fairuza really gone so long without realizing how disconnected from nature she had become? now the dirt underneath her feet felt like the embrace of an old friend.

so she painted how that felt too.

"It's not the house that's haunted. It's your daughter."  beginning / prev / next.

beach cottages my beloved 🤒

It’s her life 🧡

~ what a beautiful morning to shit in a bush.

🍃💫