Ten Years, Two Diagnosis, and a Tray of Sardines

My Dearest Friend,

This year marks ten years since I picked up a paintbrush and unknowingly started building a life out of color, chaos, and connection.

Ten. Years.

Picking up that brush—with zero expectations—sparked what would become the most surprising, wild, painful, magical, exhausting, and sacred thing I’ve ever done.

Ten years of making art.

Ten years of building a business that would go on to generate a million in print sales.

Ten years of surviving a body that has broken my heart more times than I can count—and healing it, bit by bit, one glob of paint at a time.

Look, I thought I’d be doing something big to mark this moment.

A studio party. A massive release. Maybe even a confetti cannon with a glittering “I MADE IT” banner.

But truth? I’m tired.

My body’s tired. My mind feels like it’s underwater. And my heart is somewhere suspended between gratitude and grief.

If I’m being really honest, the past two and a half years have been some of the hardest of my life. Metastatic breast cancer.

Then, the extra bonus prize: a double whammy of autoimmune diseases. Neuropathy. A body that doesn’t bounce back.

A best friend who vanished after 20 years—right in the middle of chemo. A healthcare system that made more mistakes than I can count. And still—still—I get up. I paint. I try to find one small thing that makes me smile.

And that’s where “The Happiness Project” began.

I started painting tiny things on vintage trays. Sardines. Lemons. A can of Diet Coke. Totally random objects that made me feel something other than dread. If it was something I’d never painted before, and I smiled when it was done—it passed the test. I painted olives and Chinese takeout boxes that didn’t make sense… until they did.

I didn’t know if anyone would get it. But you did.

You really did. Every collection sold out in minutes.

The Happiness Project isn’t just whimsy.

It’s something deeper now. A therapy rebellion. Healing… on a tin tray.

And that told me something big:

I’m not alone in needing small, ridiculous joy as a form of survival.

This art journey has always been about more than paint.

Because of my story, thousands of women have scheduled mammograms. Some found their cancer early. Some now stand with me on this side of the forever-calendar—marked with “life before” and “life after.” So I started a private group chat for women in active treatment. It became a circle of honesty, dark humor, love, and leaning. These women have shown me that community isn’t just important, it’s life-saving.

I didn’t plan for that. But I’m deeply honored to carry it.

Shout out and group hug to My Breast Friends.

So yes, this is a 10-Year Anniversary.

But it’s also a moment of grief and awe.

Of holding everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve created, and everyone who’s stayed.

Art has been my means of healing from the start.

It’s given me reasons to move through the fog.

To wrestle beauty from the jaws of suffering.

To anchor me.

It’s also brought together this incredible community of generous, gorgeous cheerleaders—people who don’t just show up for others… but for themselves.

I’m not “better.”

But I’m still here.

Still creating.

Still laughing at things I shouldn’t.

Still watching ridiculous videos in bed on the days I can’t move.

Still whispering “thank you” to this community—every single day.

If you’ve been here for ten years or ten minutes:

Thank you.

You’ve helped me carry this thing.

So, finally—let’s get down to it.

The Date:

April 13th, 10 AM CST (Expired)

“The Happiness Project” + 10-Year Anniversary Sale

There will be one more newsletter with photos of all the trays before the sale date. There will also be original framed art available.

With love—and Diet Coke,

xo

Mel