No snow in may,

I never wanted this space to carry only my name.

It did not feel right to tie something so shifting to something so fixed.

My art moves with how I am feeling: day to day, month to month, year to year, something my name does not.

It reflects the seasons of my mind, the turns of my life, the things that cannot always be explained.

I wanted to build a house instead of a label.

A place for everything that moves through me: the polished, the unfinished, the abstract, the uncertain.

A place where work could exist without needing to be one thing forever.

No snow in may, is the name I chose for that house.

It speaks to the beauty of what is not meant to meet, but still can.

There is no snow in may. There should not be. Yet if there was, perhaps it would fall quietly, surprising the ground, and leave behind something fleeting and rare.

Sometimes what I make is a poem. Sometimes it is a scribble.

Sometimes it leans into precision. Other times it breaks apart without warning.

It might be a collage, a texture, a thought stitched loosely to the next.

Some days it shines. Other days it sits quietly in the corner of a page.

Every piece is allowed to be what it is.

I owe that freedom to the people who shaped me: friends, family, the quiet encouragements that built something lasting.

They taught me to trust every direction my mind and hands wanted to move.

No snow in may, is the roof I built over all of it: a shelter for the shifting, the still, the unfinished, and the complete.

Everything here is made by me, but none of it exists alone.

It carries the quiet fingerprints of every relationship, every moment when continuing felt uncertain but necessary.

You do not have to understand it fully.

You do not have to explain yourself here.

You are simply welcome.

No snow in may, exists because I needed somewhere to put the pieces of myself that did not fit anywhere else.

Somewhere to gather what had changed, what had stayed, and what I was still trying to understand.

A house without a fixed season, without fixed walls.

A place where nothing has to be finished to be real.

Where nothing has to be explained to be felt.

I made this house for myself.

I made it because I needed somewhere quiet to begin again.

If you find something here that feels familiar,

you are welcome to stay for as long as you need.

Why it is written this way?

No snow in may,

it felt more honest like this.

only the first letter stands.

the rest stay quiet.

may stays small.

maybe a month.

maybe a decision.

maybe something else entirely.

the comma leaves the thought unfinished.

like most things are.

it stays open.

like it was always meant to.