Silent Prayer

I grew up in a Catholic household, surrounded by religious symbols, but for much of my life, the Virgin Mary remained distant to me. I respected her, of course, but I never felt a strong, personal connection. Recently, however, I found myself drawn to her image, almost unconsciously. She began to mean something different—no longer just a figure of perfection or purity, but a symbol of quiet strength and solace.

This piece, “Silent Prayer,” reflects that shift. Mary here is not a distant saint but someone I’ve started to see as a reflection of myself. Her downcast eyes, her silent contemplation—these aren’t gestures of weakness, but of endurance. I wanted to capture that balance: the way she holds sorrow, yet remains so still and strong, even in the face of pain.

The veil surrounding her feels like a form of protection, but also a symbol of vulnerability—not a barrier to keep the world out, but something that softens the weight she carries. The shadows across her face reflect moments of grief and introspection, the times we all face where the world feels heavy, and yet, we endure. She is a mother, a protector, but also a woman who has known suffering, and in that suffering, I find my own quiet strength.

In creating this piece, I was not just painting Mary, but exploring my own emotional landscape. The way she exists between light and shadow mirrors my own journey—times of exuberance followed by moments of doubt, of feeling beautiful and then ugly, whole and then fragmented. She has become a symbol of balance for me, teaching me how to accept both light and darkness, joy and sorrow.

“Silent Prayer” is more than a religious image—it’s a reflection of my evolving relationship with faith, with myself, and with the concept of endurance. Through her, I’ve learned to sit with my emotions, to find strength in vulnerability, and to see that even in moments of silence and stillness, there is resilience.

Size: 11x 14"