Today we’d like to introduce you to Shannon.
Hi Shannon, so excited to have you with us today. What can you tell us about your story?
I was raised in the presence of art. My dad was a full time tattoo artist and painter and kept me close to that entire world. I am from Atlanta, a city layered with rhythm, softness, and survival, and that environment shaped how I see and feel the world. Long before I knew how to express myself, an artist’s flame was already inside me, waiting to bloom.
My hands have been creating worlds for a long time. Before paint or skin, it started with words. Poetry was my first language, the place I learned how to tell the truth safely. The real ones remember my old blog and my Medium account, the late nights spent turning feeling into lines. That was the beginning of understanding that creation could hold me when nothing else could. Only God knows how many times I had to heal myself when no one was watching with my own spirit.
That understanding deepened later in high school, when my emotions began to surface with intensity and no clear direction. I can’t lie, I’m a lover girl, through and through. A lot of my beginning work had a lot to do with love, loss, rejection, pride, and sorrow. Art became a place for all of my intrusive thoughts to land and live. I started by doodling cartoon like faces in the margins of my notebooks, giving them names, expressions, and speech bubbles just to get through the day. The backs of my homework sheets held more of my truth than the assignments ever did.
Painting followed soon after. Color became its own language. I was having vivid, saturated dreams at the time, and those dreamscapes still influence my work today. I return to those colors repeatedly, standing in front of a palette, mixing and remixing, trying to recreate something I once saw while asleep, something that felt real even if it could not be explained.
From the beginning, art has been a tool for emotional processing. It allows me to validate feelings that do not always make sense, especially coming from an upbringing where emotional expression was not always safe or accepted. What began as a coping mechanism became a lifelong practice of unpacking, healing, and self understanding. That process is ongoing, and it shows in the work.
I carry the weight of my childhood with me, and traces of it live in my pieces. Through heartbreak and growth, my style emerged naturally. Viewers often notice the recurring eyes, watchful, expressive, and grounded. They have become a signature in my work, a personal symbol and a quiet declaration of presence. A way of saying I was here, and I felt deeply.
Painting will always be my first love. It is where I feel most grounded and honest. Tattooing, however, has become a powerful extension of that love. Introduced to the craft by my father, a full time tattoo artist, I approach the medium with respect and humility. I am proud to be a student, still learning, still listening. Tattooing has allowed me to build meaningful connections through trust, permanence, and shared stories.
My creativity does not stop at one form. I make jewelry, cocoa butter, and whatever art or craft my kids want to try next. Creation is woven into our daily life. To this day, they keep me inspired, reminding me that art is play, curiosity, and connection just as much as it is healing.
Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
My road to artistry has never been linear. It has been marked by both devotion and doubt, by moments of deep fulfillment and moments where I questioned everything. I know I am most aligned when I create until I feel empty, when I give everything I have to the work. But something shifted when I began attaching a price tag to what I make. That’s when the discomfort crept in. The quiet icks. The low confidence. It circles back to that need for validation I’ve learned to recognize in myself.
There are moments when I know I’ve created something powerful, something true, and yet when it isn’t received or accepted, I begin to second guess. I stop posting. I disappear for a while. I question the work, the path, and myself. The silence can feel louder than the critique.
I’ve also learned something complicated about my creativity. I often create most honestly, and almost more effortlessly, when I am unhappy or moving through something heavy. There are times when joy feels unfamiliar in my work. Happiness has sometimes left me unsure of my voice, as if peace has stolen my subject matter. Learning that I do not need pain to be profound has been one of the harder lessons. When I’m happy, I sometimes feel like a fraud, as if I suddenly have nothing meaningful to say. That realization has been difficult to sit with. It has forced me to learn how to honor growth without clinging to pain as a source.
I’m learning not to rush the process. I am resisting urgency. Not to look for cheat codes or shortcuts. Not to cheat the game. I’m still finding my rhythm, and I’m beginning to understand that discipline is where it starts.
My life is full. I am a mother. I work. Time does not belong to me the way it once did. Creation now requires intention. It requires choice. And every time I choose to create, I am choosing myself. I am choosing the God within me. I’ve learned that the universe always pays me back for that decision in one way or another, even if it isn’t immediate or obvious. I am still learning to trust that truth.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I am a visual artist working in acrylic, watercolor, gouache, graphic design, quite literally whatever I can get my hands on. My work is known for bold color palettes, recurring eyes that watch and witness, and thick, deliberate lines. Lowkey a signature in my work, a way of saying that “I was here”.
What I am most proud of is the honesty in my work. I hold nothing back, allowing every piece to carry a trace of my inner process, almost as if I am making love to each creation. In this space, I have never been more genuine, more present. My vulnerability laid bare. Art has given me a voice, and with every stroke, it grows closer to the voice of my higher self. I
What sets me apart is intentionality. I have studied and experimented independently, diving into color therapy, understanding how certain combinations, contrasts, and compositions can evoke undeniable feeling. My goal has always been twofold: to create work that resonates deeply with others and, at the same time, heals me. Every piece is a dialogue between myself and those who encounter it, a space where emotion, experience, and intention converge.
Do you any memories from childhood that you can share with us?
It took me a while to even remember this, but my favorite childhood memory is something really special to me, even though it might seem small, and it’s actually something I do with my kids now.
My parents split when I was young. My mom moved to Sandy Springs, my dad stayed on the Southside, back when the toll gate was still a thing—if you know, you know. My dad was a weekend dad for most of my childhood, and he’d also get me for summer and winter breaks and holidays. Sometimes he’d take the train to come get me from my mom’s house, and if you know how MARTA works, that trip from College Park to North Springs was long.
Other weekends, he would drive the whole way. I’d sit in the back seat, looking out the window, and he’d play Amy Winehouse or Gorillaz. Then, somewhere in the middle of the ride, he’d reach back with his right arm and hold his hand open, as if to ask for mine. My hands were tiny then, and his big Wreck-It Ralph hands would practically swallow them. It wasn’t for long, but it was our thing.
That trip was emotionally taxing. I didn’t really understand it then, but the ride back to my mom’s house hurt the most, knowing I wouldn’t see my dad for a while. God knows how dramatic I was, but every feeling felt like the only feeling, like my entire world existed in that moment. I didn’t know it at the time, but I needed that physical touch more than anything, especially during such a formative, confusing time. Funny enough, physical touch ended up being one of my biggest love languages, and looking back, I can see how important those small gestures really were.
I can still see it clearly in my mind, my dad holding my hand, the music playing, the city passing by outside. That small, quiet gesture meant everything. It’s one of the memories I hold closest, and now I try to do the same with my own kids. Those little moments, just being present, matter more than anything, even if its just for the car ride.
Pricing:
- Tattoos: $100 per hour, $50 non refundable deposit. Color included. Consultation required.
- Painting commissions require consultation to discuss vision and requirements.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @shannonanandaa
Image Credits
@hakim.wilson took all of my professional photography pictures!
My artwork was made on procreate.
