i AM - Transformation

Hi friends,

Welcome to the heart of my world.
This is where I write with paint, with blood, with breath.
Where I share the stories behind the art—unfiltered, intimate, and raw.
If social media is where I show glimpses, this space is where I let you in.
歡迎來到我世界的核心。
在這裡，我用顏料、血液、呼吸來書寫。
分享創作背後的故事——赤裸、親密、毫不掩飾。
如果說社群媒體是片段的展示，這裡，就是我真正讓你進來的地方。

From Quiet Artist

to Wild Becoming

Let me start from 3 years ago…

Posture tells so much about one’s inner world.
姿態，往往透露出內在的狀態。

我總覺得自己不夠好，
所以總是縮著身體、不敢抬頭挺胸。
那不是因為太累、太重，
而是我不相信自己值得被看見。

I thought I wasn’t good enough.
So I curled inward, afraid to stand tall.
Not because I was tired or burdened,
But because I didn’t believe I was worthy of being seen.

那時的「時尚 Tricia」，根本沒穿自己的衣服。
我把自己藏在前任留下、不合身的舊 T 恤裡，
彷彿穿上他的衣服，就能讓自己顯得堅強一點，
好像這樣就能掩蓋那個脆弱、無法面對的自己。

“Fashion Tricia” wasn’t even dressed in her own clothes.
I hid inside my ex’s oversized, ill-fitting T-shirts—
as if wearing his clothes could somehow make me feel stronger,
as if they could cover up the fragile, lost version of me I didn’t know how to face.

2022.06

那年，在我自己的展覽上，
我卻無法好好站立。
我的背像問號一樣彎曲，
守著一顆我自己都不敢靠近的心。

That year, at my own exhibition,
I couldn’t even stand properly.
My spine shaped like a question mark,
Protecting a heart I didn’t know how to love.

姿態，往往洩露了內在的秘密。
那時的我，是拒絕自己的樣子。

Posture reveals what words often can’t.
Back then, my body mirrored my self-rejection.


三年前，我扮演了個角色。
當個「乖女孩」，當個安靜的藝術家。
微笑、點頭，把自己塞進別人期待的框框裡。

他們說這是優雅，
但我知道，那只是求生。

Three years ago, I played the role.
The good girl. The quiet artist.
Smiling. Nodding. Shrinking myself to fit the frame.

They called it grace.
I called it survival.

2022年9月，我陷入了人生的低谷。
我吞下的不是食物，而是酒精、羞愧與罪惡感，因為我無法正視自己。
鏡子裡的那個人，我完全不認識。
我把自己藏得太深，深到失去了自由行動的能力，甚至連好好呼吸都困難。
說「不要」變成了自動反應，彷彿這樣就能保護那個我尚未認識的自己。
那是一場靈魂的黑夜，一場靜默的崩塌，迫使我開始發問：
在所有故事、面具和求生機制之下，我到底是誰？
我以為那就是谷底了，

沒想到，更深的谷底，還在等著我。

In September 2022, I hit what I thought was rock bottom.
All I consumed were substances, shame, and guilt—because I couldn’t face myself.
I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.
I had hidden for so long that I lost the freedom to move, to breathe, to feel alive.
Saying “no” became my first instinct—a reflex to protect a self I didn’t even know.
It was the beginning of my dark night of the soul,
a quiet collapse that led me to ask the question:
Who am I, really, beneath all the stories, masks, and survival modes?
I thought I had reached the bottom—
but a deeper darkness was still waiting for me.

2023.06

那時的我，還在生存模式裡掙扎。
但我還是把僅存的能量都擠出來，誕生了一整個系列作品。
照片裡的我對著世界微笑，
其實是因為我內心根本沒有一個「我」可以分享。
我的自我（ego）聲音很大，只是為了彌補那個虛弱的內在。
那系列作品我取名為「整合」，
因為我開始嘗試去愛那些曾經被我否定、推開的自己。
我努力想變完整、變圓滿，
只是那時候，還沒到真正成熟的時機。

Back then, I was still deep in survival mode.
And yet, I squeezed out every drop of energy I had to birth a full collection.
In the photos, you’ll see me smiling for the world—
because I had no true self to share.
My ego was loud, compensating for the emptiness underneath.
I called it the Integration Collection,
because it was the beginning of learning to love the past versions of me I had rejected.
I was working hard to become whole—
but the timing just wasn’t right yet.

媽媽幫我拍照的時候，努力想捕捉一個為自己作品感到驕傲的 Tricia。
她很用心、很耐心，
但那樣的我，卻很少出現。
我知道她想留下的是一個閃閃發光的女兒，
可我那時只是個正在崩塌、硬撐著微笑的空殼。

When my mom took photos of me,
she tried so hard to capture a Tricia who was proud of her work.
She was so patient, so loving—
but that version of me rarely showed up.
I know she wanted to preserve an image of her daughter shining bright,
but back then, I was just a hollow shell, collapsing quietly behind a smile.

2023.07

2023年7月，分手發生了。
那之前的兩年，我把所有創作的能量都投入在庭院裡，
日復一日種花、挖土、打造夢想中的花園——
其實是想逃避自己，也逃避那段正在崩解的關係。
當我親手打造的花園終於漸漸成形、充滿生命時，
這段感情卻走到了終點。
我曾以為自己是某人的女友，是一位藝術家，
但當關係結束，我只剩下那個怯生生、不確定的藝術家身份，
還有銀行帳戶裡不到十萬塊台幣。
那一刻，我才發現，我把自我價值綁在了他人身上，
當這段關係抽離，我連自己是誰都不確定了。

In July 2023, the breakup happened.
For two years before that, I had poured all my creative energy into the backyard—
planting, digging, building my dream garden day after day.
It was my escape—from myself, and from a relationship that was slowly falling apart.
Just as the garden I had worked so hard on began to bloom and come alive,
the relationship ended.
I had thought I was someone’s girlfriend, and an artist.
But when it all ended, all I had left was a timid, uncertain version of that artist identity—
and $10,000 in my bank account.
That moment made me realize how much of my worth was wrapped up in someone else.
And without them, I no longer knew who I was.

2023.0

For years, I called myself a "quiet artist."

I thought I was meant to be quiet with 靜 character in my name.
I painted in solitude. I moved in silence.
My hands spoke through colors and shapes, but my voice—my actual voice—remained hidden.

I used to believe that staying invisible was safer. That being “good” and “gentle” was the only way to be accepted. I painted what I was feeling, but rarely did I let people see me—the raw, contradictory, sensual, sacred, and untamed being behind the canvas.

But something inside me never stopped burning. A wild pulse that refused to be muted.
It whispered through blood, through rhythm, through dreams.
Until one day… I listened.

多年來，我都稱自己是個「安靜的藝術家」。

我以為我註定要我以為我註定要保持安靜，因為我有個靜字在名字裡。
我默默地畫畫、靜靜地移動。
我的雙手透過色彩和形狀說話，但我真正的聲音——一直隱藏著。

我曾以為，保持隱形比較安全。
乖巧、溫柔，是唯一被接受的方式。
我畫出內在的情緒，卻很少讓人真正看見我——那個矛盾、性感、神聖又難以馴服的我。

但內在那股野性的脈動從未熄滅，
它透過月經、節奏、夢境低語著，
直到有一天……我終於聽見了。

If this story touched something in you—
Leave a comment. Share it with a friend.
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Thank you for witnessing me.
如果這段故事觸動了你——
歡迎留言，或轉發給你在乎的人。
更歡迎你訂閱我的電子報，那裡是我最親密的分享空間。
感謝你，見證我的旅程。