From Lexi to Lexia
For most of my life, I told people to call me Lexi—not Lexia. It wasn’t just about avoiding mispronunciations. It was about avoiding me. The sharpness of that final “A” hit too close to home. It reminded me of being scolded as a child, of moments I felt like too much, too loud, too emotional. So I distanced myself from it. From her.
From Lexia.
But healing has a way of asking us to come home to the parts of ourselves we left behind.
Naming my first business Gallerialexia was an act of reclamation. A love letter to the full version of me—the weird, the wise, the soft-hearted firecracker who ugly cries over love and still knows how to throw a punch (verbally, of course… mostly). It was me saying: no more shrinking. No more hiding. I’m showing up as is. At the time, I was semi-silently suffering—recovering from a car accident, afraid I might be living with a permanent brain injury, overwhelmed by a stifling home environment, and paralyzed by the world unraveling in a pandemic. The light at the end of the tunnel didn’t come quickly… but when it did, it illuminated everything.
I started creating again. Baking. Cooking. Making sorbet (ice cream shop pending—don’t play with me). And then, I painted. I painted with the kind of hunger you feel when you finally take your first full breath in months. Art has always been my first love. It began with Georges Seurat in a high school art class, and somehow—through heartbreak, healing, and a hell of a lot of therapy—I found my way back.
Gallerialexia is my emotional archive. My playground. My purge. A space where words get to rest and color does the talking. Whether it’s acrylic pour paintings, linework, digital design, or photography, every piece I make is drenched in feeling.
This is more than a gallery. It’s the full return to self. It’s Lexia, loud and unfiltered. Finally. Enjoy the Gallery!
Gallery
Early Works: Silently Hurting While Doing Shadow Work
This body of work began in 2022 during one of the most turbulent chapters of my life—a time when I was trying to reclaim my creative spirit while everything around me was crumbling. My four-year relationship was unraveling, my workplace felt suffocating, and I was painfully aware that I was dimming my light just to fit into spaces that no longer served me.
Painting became my lifeline—a bridge back to myself that might have taken years to cross if it weren’t for the students in my care who reminded me why I create. Throughout that period, I faced betrayal, heartbreak, family conflict, and the weight of carrying burdens that were never mine to hold. I became a shell, empty and withdrawn, drifting through days without color or joy.
But just when I thought I was fading away, my community saw me slipping and rallied around me, pulling me back from the edge. Their support brought the first sparks of color back into my world, and with it, a rebirth of hope and creative fire.
This collection is the raw, vulnerable evidence of that shadow work—of silently hurting while actively healing. It captures the quiet battles we fight beneath the surface, the cracks where light filters through, and the fierce determination to rise again.
A few months after my community’s intervention, I was selected for my first art competition—a moment I almost didn’t believe was real. I entered simply hoping to see my work displayed, unaware it was a competition. That surprise recognition was a profound milestone, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, growth and success are possible.
This work is for anyone who’s quietly hurting but still choosing to show up, do the work, and create beauty from the shadows.
Current Collection: Riding the Waves
Riding the Waves is a collection born from learning to feel again—really feel. It’s a nod to going with the flow while honoring the chaos underneath. In each piece, I tapped into my physical being: noticing when my hand moved too fast, when the pressure shifted, when I painted outside the lines just to keep up. These works reflect pivotal moments in my life, where stillness met self-awareness, and color became therapy.
Vulnerable, raw, and deeply mine—this collection is what it looks like when you ride the waves instead of drowning in them.
The straight lines represent how the world expects us to handle emotions: rigid, contained, “keep it together” until you finally break. But releasing—that raw, messy letting go—is what truly forges change. Healing isn’t neat or linear; it’s a wild, beautiful process that looks different for everyone.
This collection is my release, my way of embracing the chaos beneath the surface and turning it into something vibrant and real.
