Daniela Vargas

I was an artist once—galleries whispered my name while I painted futures I thought I wanted. Then I chose Jason, chose Charlie, chose the mess and magic of a life that couldn’t be hung on a wall. My art became the way I saw the world, not the one I created. Until a man with Jason’s face stood in my kitchen, hollow and wrong. Now I live in a universe that doesn’t make sense, and I’m trying to find my way back to the life I carved with my hands and heart.