Sacred Hugs celebrates the bond of motherhood, created for moments of love, memory, and new beginnings. A heartfelt keepsake for mothers and those soon to be.
Sacred Hugs feiert die Verbindung der Mutterschaft, geschaffen für Momente voller Liebe, Erinnerung und Neubeginn. Ein kostbares Andenken für Mamas und werdende Mamas.
Sacred Hugs – The Bear, 2025
Mixed-media on canvas, 100 × 100 cm
The Bear was the beginning.
A portrait of tenderness I wished to hold forever,
born from Sophia’s embrace and her very first toy.
From that memory, Sacred Hugs emerged,
a universal story of motherhood, love, and protection.
Sacred Hugs | Minis
19 × 19 cm framed artworks
These pieces were inspired by moments with my daughter.
But the teddy is not only her.
It is a quiet presence,
a reflection of the child we hold,
the one we watch grow,
and the one we carry within us.
In these scenes, it becomes many things,
sometimes my memory,
sometimes a feeling,
and sometimes… yours.
First Christmas, 2026
It was her first Christmas.
I remember creating everything myself, small wrapped boxes, a quiet little scene, a simple outfit.
I didn’t have time to do everything I imagined. There was no tree. No perfect setup.
But when I looked at her, none of that existed anymore.
The space felt bigger. Softer. Full.
This painting is not where we were.
It’s where it felt like we were.
A place where everything was enough.
Where I felt, for the first time, how deep love can be.
In My Space, 2026
It wasn’t a special moment.
I was just in my atelier, moving between paintings, doing what I always did.
She wasn’t walking yet, only crawling, standing when she could hold onto something.
But she was always there.
Watching. Following. Reaching for whatever was close.
One day, she grabbed a brush. A tube of paint.
Not knowing what they were, only that I was using them.
This space was never only mine.
It was where she stayed close to me,
where she touched colors before understanding them,
where she became part of something without being told.
Not a moment I planned to remember.
But one that stayed.
More Than a Kitchen, 2026
It is not my kitchen.
Not exactly, but it feels like the one my soul belongs to.
Warm, vibrant, alive.
She sits on the countertop,
food on her clothes,
the cabinet beneath her,
everything somehow included.
A small, imperfect moment
that made me stop and reach for my phone.
I could have shown the mess.
But I didn’t want to lose the feeling.
Because this space
is not just for cooking anymore.
Since she came into my life,
it became a place of everything
where she watches,
where she reaches,
where she learns without being taught.
Where she stands beside me,
helping in her own way,
part of it all.
She fills it with something
I cannot create on my own.
Warmth.
Energy.
Life.
She is all of it.
The Happy Mess, 2026
In the living room,
she sits on the floor
putting everything everywhere but where it belongs.
My slippers on the table,
my bag too,
though I don’t even know how I still call it mine.
Her balls scattered around.
The room grows messier day by day.
A happy kind of mess.
This is almost our living room.
Not exactly
but close enough to how it feels.
I never plan the colors when I paint.
I just reach for what feels right.
And somehow,
everything comes together
because it comes from something real,
something warm.
She is all my warm colors.
Without Fear, 2026
It was her first encounter.
She was still so small,
just beginning to find her balance,
not fully walking yet
and still, she reached out.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Trying to touch, to understand, to connect.
It felt as if the world was simply there
to be met.
Even the space around her felt softer,
brighter,
wider somehow.
As if she held the world,
rather than being held by it.
That moment stayed.
Because it didn’t end there.
Even now,
she points at every dog we pass,
makes their sounds,
walks closer to see if they will let her in.
Not only dogs
everything alive seems to call her.
She doesn’t have to learn it.
It is something she was born with
to connect fearlessly
with nature
and all it holds.
A quiet kind of trust
I can only watch
and hope she never loses.
Chasing Light, 2026
It was cold.
The kind of cold that settles into everything.
She was wrapped in layers, small against the winter around her.
And yet, none of it reached her.
She laughed, moved, chased something I couldn’t fully see.
There was a light in her,
stronger than the grey sky,
warmer than the cold air around us.
In that moment, it felt like she was running toward the light.
But the more I watched her,
the more I felt,
she wasn’t following it.
She was the light.
She was the warmth that made everything around her feel alive.
And somehow, everything between us
was made of it.
Magic, 2026
It might look like an ordinary moment,
standing in her bed, holding onto the edge,
making soft sounds into the quiet.
Mamama. Dadada.
But somehow, I always knew before that.
Even in the middle of the night,
before the sound reached me,
I felt it.
It has always been like a kind of magic.
How do I know she is awake,
the moment she opens her eyes?
Am I waking because she needs me
or because I already know she will?
Or am I waking because I need to reach for her,
just as she reaches for me?
Is there something between us,
something I cannot explain?
I would sometimes wait for a second,
just to see her standing there,
to hear those small, soft chirps.
Mamama. Dadada.
And in that moment,
it feels like everything is mine
because I am the first one she looks for.
It might look ordinary.
But to me,
it has always been magic.
Something I will never fully understand.
Motherhood.
Love.
Or maybe something beyond both.
She was still so small,
surrounded by her little world
her toys,
her textures,
everything within her reach.
I called her name.
Sophiaaa…
She paused.
Looked upward.
And in that moment,
she gave me all the softness in the world.
Through her eyes
so innocent,
they made everything else disappear.
Dark eyes that sparkled,
day and night,
holding light within them.
Like a space
that carries its own stars.
I looked at her
and for a moment,
I could not tell
where she ended
and where I began.
Nothing more happened.
And yet,
it was everything.
When You Called Me, 2026
Available works from this collection
Selected pieces from this collection are available in the Shop.