When an Artist Breaks Their Hand

Breaking my hand as an artist has been... complicated, to say the least. Creating is how I breathe, how I express, how I move through the world. Losing access to that—temporarily—has felt like being locked out of my own language.

But there’s beauty in the breakdown.

Oddly enough, I feel fortunate in a strange way. Years ago, I broke my arm as a kid—and that experience pushed me to teach my left hand how to draw, write, spray paint, and paint. I never imagined that little act of stubbornness would come back to support me like this. Now, that muscle memory is saving me. It’s not easy, but it’s something.

This cast became my new canvas. I couldn’t sketch the way I used to, but I could still paint. So I did. I turned something that represented pain and limitation into something that reflects me. A friend said it’s like I’ve got a sleeve I can change whenever I please—and honestly, that perspective has stuck with me.

It’s become a walking conversation starter, a wearable piece of art that makes people smile, ask questions, connect. And through it, I’ve learned that creativity doesn’t leave you, even when your tools do. It adapts. It evolves. And it reminds you of the parts of yourself that no cast can hold back.

Still healing. Still creating. Just... differently for now.