ABOUT SARAH DIANA

When I first felt the pull to paint, I devoured every watercolor and art book I could find at the local library. I wasn’t just learning techniques—I was translating them into memories. Coastal island scenes from my home began to fill the pages, teaching me about color, value, perspective, and emotion. Through daily practice, late-night Facebook forum discussions, and endless sketchbooks, I spent over a year immersed in the quiet discipline of learning. But more than technique, I discovered parts of myself I hadn’t met before—creative, brave, and deeply alive.

 

One day, in quiet prayer, I heard the nudge: share your work. I hesitated but listened. I gathered the folders full of paintings I’d been quietly creating and shared them with the Wilmington community. I was floored by the response—people saw something in my art that moved them. And from that moment, the dream began: to support my family through the work of my hands and the gift God had placed inside me.

 

After selling a few originals, I took a leap and bought a fine art printer—Pixie, I call her—and began the journey of turning paintings into pieces of people’s homes and hearts. Then, after COVID, I found myself unexpectedly in Florida, surrounded by a world of fine art I hadn’t known existed. I knew I hadn’t landed there by accident. This was God’s story, unfolding step by step, gift by gift.

 

So I kept saying yes. No fear. No hesitation. Just faith. Each opportunity felt like a present—hand-wrapped just for me—and I opened them one by one. With every open door came new inspiration, new growth. My art expanded. My heart stretched. My life began to shine in ways I never imagined possible. People across the country began collecting my work, bringing pieces of my spirit into their own sacred spaces.

 

Throughout this journey, I’ve shared not only the beauty but the brokenness. I’ve spoken openly about the highs and lows, always giving glory to God—because without Him, I never would’ve picked up that brush on a cold day in late 2018.

 

I’ve worn many hats over the years—bartender, science teacher, foster care manager, construction worker—but the most meaningful role I’ve ever held is being a mother. It was through my children that I realized I wasn’t living fully in the light I was meant to shine. I remember the prayer: “Show me what to do, God. I’ll do it. No matter how crazy it sounds.”

 

And I heard it clear as day:

“Whatever you do… Paint.”

 

I thought He meant the ugly yellow bathroom. But when I got home, I saw my kids watercoloring at the kitchen table—and something shifted. Every cell in my body lit up. I knew. That was the beginning.

 

Since that moment, I’ve never looked at the world the same. Everything is more vibrant. Even in sorrow, I find light—sometimes after dozens of hours lost in paint, but it always reveals itself. And I grow with it.

 

The cotton. The pigments. The water.

They’re not just materials.

They’re the sacred pieces of the puzzle that mend me back together—again and again.