I am Vomica Flora, a painter who seeks silence within colours and truth within forms. I walk among leaves, roots, and dust — listening to the language of nature that most people have forgotten. A dry leaf falling from its branch, a dying petal curling toward the soil — these are the quiet symphonies I paint, the small moments that mirror the way a heart breaks and heals again. I do not create to impress. I create to survive. Each brushstroke is a way of breathing through the ache — a way to keep my spirit from collapsing under the weight of what life has taken and left behind.

Art, for me, is a gentle rebellion against despair. It teaches me to see what others discard, to find tenderness in decay, to embrace the imperfect rhythm of nature and the fragile honesty of being human. When I paint, I am both the wound and the hand that tries to close it. Through the veins of leaves, I remember my own fragility. Through the shimmer of dew, I remember that sorrow, too, can be luminous. Every piece I create carries a fragment of my healing — not to teach or to preach, but simply to exist as proof that beauty can grow even from broken soil.

I do not paint to change the world. I paint because art is the only place where I can meet my pain without fear, where silence speaks louder than grief, where I can finally forgive myself for being human. And if, through my paintings, someone pauses — just for a moment — to see the world with gentler eyes, then the wound has already begun to bloom.