Waniwin is pronounced wah-nee-ween. Choosing a name took time. I wanted something that felt personal, something that honored both my heritage and my journey as an artist. As someone of mixed Native American descent, it was important to me that my name reflect that part of who I am in a thoughtful and meaningful way. With my mother’s help, I began exploring words from the Lakota and Cherokee languages. During that time, I was also going through deep personal and creative change, so the search felt aligned with where I was in life. The word “Wani” (wah-nee) in Lakota translates to “the Four Winds.” The Four Winds represent the cardinal directions; North, South, East, and West and are often understood symbolically as a journey: movement, growth, Becoming. The word “Win” (ween) means “woman” in Lakota. We were also drawn to the word “Ani,” which in the language of the Ani'-Yun'wiya (Cherokee) refers to “the People.” It holds cultural and ancestral significance for my family. It also means "strawberry."  ​ Bringing these elements together felt right. To me, the name represents direction, identity, and the ongoing journey of becoming as an artist, as a person, and as someone shaped by multiple histories. Waniwin is a reminder that we are always moving, always learning, always becoming.

I love working across mediums. Digital illustration, oil paint, sketchbooks, fiber arts! Each one offers a different way of thinking and seeing. Exploring materials keeps me curious and keeps my practice alive. That said, my focus has become clearer over time. While I am formally trained in Illustration and continue to value visual storytelling, my work has increasingly centered around painting, particularly oil painting- my primary space for exploration. Painting allows me to slow down, to study atmosphere, emotion, and memory with greater depth and patience. Illustration teaches clarity and problem-solving. Painting invites introspection and presence. I carry both into my work. But I also enjoy experimenting and trying other mediums that aren't related to painting or drawing at all, such as: - Crochet - Scrapbooking - Miniature Painting

Art school is a deeply personal decision. There isn’t one correct path. Many artists build meaningful, successful careers without ever attending a formal program. Discipline, curiosity, and consistent practice matter far more than a degree alone. There are countless self-taught artists who have put in the work and developed remarkable skill outside of academia. ​ That said, art school has been valuable for me. The structured environment, access to materials, dedicated studio time, and direct mentorship from working artists have accelerated my growth. Being surrounded by other creatives, each with different perspectives and strengths, has pushed me beyond my comfort zone in ways I may not have pursued on my own. It has also offered practical benefits: critiques, accountability, networking opportunities, and exposure to industries I may not have otherwise encountered. Ultimately, what matters most is how you learn best. Some thrive in structured environments; others flourish independently. Whichever path you choose, commitment to your craft will always be the deciding factor.

I began as many artists do: by observing and imitating. I didn’t attend art clubs in high school, and I didn't have formal training early on. Most of my learning came from drawing what I saw online, studying artists I admired, and copying characters and imagery that fascinated me. I spent years doodling- not always with structured practice, but with constant curiosity. Over time, observation sharpened into understanding. Each sketch improved slightly from the last. Even without a rigid routine, repetition quietly built a foundation. When it came time to choose a career path, pursuing art felt natural. I wanted to move beyond imitation and truly understand what I was doing, why certain forms worked, how light behaves, how composition guides the eye. University gave me structure, critique, and deeper exposure to fundamentals that I hadn’t fully explored on my own. Looking back, the greatest teacher has always been practice. Consistent, intentional practice paired with honest self-reflection, is what transforms interest into skill.

I work across both digital and traditional mediums. Digitally, I primarily use an iPad (2018) with Procreate & Adobe Fresco, which has become my favorite portable setup. I’ve previously worked with display tablets such as the XP-Pen Artist 12, and I still appreciate the flexibility of different digital tools depending on the project. Traditionally, I work most often with oil paint, alongside acrylic, gouache, and watercolor. My drawing materials include graphite, charcoal, ink, colored pencil, and oil pastel. I value versatility in materials, though oil paint has become my primary focus. For sketching and studies, I prefer the illo sketchbook. For finished works, I use both stretched canvas and canvas panels depending on scale and intent. Ultimately, the tool matters less than the discipline behind it, but I enjoy exploring what each medium uniquely offers.

It depends on the piece. Quick sketches and studies may take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. More developed works typically range from several hours to multiple days, especially when working in oil. As I continue refining my craft, I’ve learned that time is part of the process. Some works resolve quickly; others require patience. I try to give each piece the time it genuinely needs rather than rushing toward completion.

Inspiration, for me, has never been a single source. It’s a pattern, something that reveals itself over time. I’m inspired by fractured worlds and the quiet endurance within them. By stories that do not shy away from ruin but still insist on humanity. By memory, atmosphere, and the emotional weight of existing in uncertain times. Dark fantasy, dystopian landscapes, and philosophical narratives often shape my visual language. Works like Dark Souls, Berserk, and Blade Runner resonate with me not because they are bleak, but because they are honest. They expose vulnerability, perseverance, and the will to continue when restoration isn’t guaranteed. I’m also inspired by artists who create with conviction, those who allow their work to carry personal meaning rather than trend-driven aesthetics. Yuumei was one of the artists who made me realize that art could hold a message, that it could speak quietly yet powerfully to thousands of people. That realization stayed with me. Beyond media and influence, I’m inspired by growth itself. Personal change. Healing. The process of confronting fear and understanding it. My life experiences- both turbulent and transformative, inevitably shape what I paint. At its core, what inspires me most is connection. The desire to create something that makes someone pause and feel understood. Not spectacle. Not noise. But recognition.

My prices reflect the time, skill, and intentionality that go into each piece. Commissioned artwork is not mass-produced. It is carefully developed, refined, and crafted by hand, often over many hours or days, with close attention to detail, emotion, and composition. As I’ve grown in experience and technical ability, I’ve adjusted my pricing to ensure I’m compensated fairly for the work I create. Investing in original art means investing in something personal, meaningful, and enduring- a piece created specifically for you. I value the quality of what I produce, and my pricing is aligned with that standard.

I understand that original artwork is an investment. For commissioned work, I offer flexible payment plans. We can arrange a split payment structure from the start of the project through to completion. Full payment is required before final delivery, but I’m open to discussing reasonable arrangements when needed. If a commission isn’t within reach right now, there are other ways to support my work, such as purchasing prints (when available), supporting through Ko-fi, or engaging with and sharing my work online. Your support in any form is always appreciated.