Even with flaws, groovy stuff can emerge when we are all together.

Self-taught, started creating after raising family. Supportive family base allows my artistic abilities to thrive. This painting, A Flower Tells A Story, inspired from caring for my mother in her cancer journey, is meant to acknowledge all cancer types and to bring a bit of brightness to the fighters. I create what feels like my safe space to help me gain perspective which in turn helps me find positive qualities in the subject.

I was diagnosed with cancer at age 43. It was a rare aggressive cancer. I knew I had to fight. I had a 10-year-old daughter. I wasn’t done being a mom, a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. Cancer is a dark, mean illness that doesn’t discriminate. It takes away your dignity, your body, mind and spirit. It’s ugly and messy. It turns your life upside down. My lavender has always been something I’ve used to bring me comfort and calmness. It’s resilient. The fields grow every which way in its own sort of chaos, wild and free. It’s a safe place to fall. During treatment I saw how I was affected, mainly mentally and emotionally.

Aging is a beautiful mess. From the minute we take our first breath until we exhale our last, every age is filled with milestones and expectations.

Every word on this canvas takes on a different meaning based on your current age. Fun, free, knee pain, friendships, health, and memory all have different meanings when you are 16, 30 or 60 years old.

It is the circle of life where flaws occur in the beautiful mess we call aging.

At first glance, the emu – a flightless bird – might seem like nature’s mistake. But think again. These birds are fierce, clever, and resilient. Ever heard of the Great Emu War of 1932? Look it up – emus faced off against armed soldiers ... and won.

Flightless? Yes. But they’ve adapted with powerful legs for running, leaping, and even swimming. The emu reminds me that what looks like a flaw can be a hidden superpower. Every

imperfection carries a story of strength.

The arrangement is in honor of the Simon Cancer Center gift shop, "The Gift Box," paper flowers program, now in its third year. What a great joy it has been to make and share the paper arrangements! Each flower is hand cut, making them not completely symmetrical, definitely a little flawed, and certainly imperfectly beautiful. I could machine-make each one exactly the same, but I believe they would lose their personality. Each little flaw speaks to the flower's character. Much like me, I

believe my flaws add to my character. For I am not perfect, but beautifully and wonderfully made, flaws and all.

As soon as I saw the theme for this year's show, I knew I wanted to explore alcohol ink painting. The process is basically taking a flaw (a drop of ink) on a paper or canvas and turning it into something beautiful and unique by blowing the inks with a straw or heating tool. The outcome of putting a drop of alcohol onto a drop of ink will never yield the same results. The saturation of the paper, the size of the drops, and the very breath that the artist uses to blow and move the ink are always going to determine the outcome of the work. The artist must acknowledge the lack of control of these factors.

I want the audience to know that you are loved. GOD made you, limited edition, irreplaceable YOU. You bring so much to the world, so be kind to yourself and others. Even when you doubt yourself, keep striving. Let LOVE prevail, love for others and yourself. Choose the unstained pasture of peace.

Cynthia Dance is an abstract artist whose work captures the movement of nature through fluid color, while embracing intuition and spontaneity.

Like so many, she’s had a front row seat to cancer and the

delicate balance of caregiving. As strength fades like a wilting flower, for both patient and caregiver, faith and resilience are ever-present and waiting to bloom. Every moment and every

brushstroke is part of a larger picture of grace – honoring the beautiful mess that is part of every cancer story.

I was born with a rare genetic disorder called Bannayan-Riley- Ruvalcaba syndrome. This means that my tumor suppressor gene is mutated, and I have a higher risk of developing cancer. One of the cancers I was at highest risk for was breast cancer. Two years ago, I had a preventative double mastectomy and reconstruction surgery. The aim of this artwork is to look back on what my body was and see the beauty in the imperfections that were potentially dangerous. When I saw my MRI scans before my surgery, they reminded me of constellations. I had so many unknown growths in my breast tissue that I had a great chance of becoming cancerous.

I want people to experience this art freely and without constraint. Art and love are the human experience.

I started it wanting it to be one color for Ovarian cancer. Once I started it I realized that it's OK if it doesn't match per the theme.

There's a roadmap, but what will we find along the way? Your footprints ... you may have tried to plan them out. But if you stumble, just keep going.

The iceberg represents the weight of pain, trauma and cancer, yet my strengths raise the waters above it. I am lifted by love and support from my son, my nieces, and many others, by Pachamama and by my amazing care team – especially Dr. Suvannasankha, Gerry. My purpose fuels my work and resilience. Cancer has taught me to be more grateful, make time count, let healing flow, and trust that the good in me will live on – that is where I am heading in a supportive sailboat. I find meaning in this beautiful mess of pain, suffering, resilience and flow.

Emotions are a beautiful mess. Tear drops from a happy laugh, joy, and relief fall from the same place as the tears of fear, grief, and loss.

Art Therapists are there through it all to hold emotions,

celebrate triumphs, and heal the wounded spirit. Every session is like the eruption of a tear drop hitting space for the first time; flowing, splashing, and evaporating as you exhale.

It portrays the very complex and difficult challenges of life, as well as where my hope remains.

Life's overflowing bucket with the many colors of suffering and loss that intertwine around my heart.

Remembering joyful moments, such as the rainbow, bring calm and peace, while building more joy and capacity.

The LORD's suffering, compassion, understanding and encouragement toward me help me to grow in compassion and understanding for others' life experiences.

This allows me to comfort, support, and encourage others.

Encouraging others through art, cards, postcards, text messages or emails brings me a lot of joy and takes me outside of my pain.

I put my left eye out when I was six years old. I don’t know what the world would look like if I had two eyes. This piece is what I feel at times when viewing the world with my one eye. I can only see so much when I turn my head to see peripheral things. My Parkinson’s only contributes to the clutter of what I see.

I would like the audience to realize that even if there’s chaos, the patient always comes first and even if it seems like chaos, everything does get done.

To acknowledge the give-and-take of life, giving efforts in situations that, no matter what, we have the will and the drive to survive.

Discarded globs of paint were scraped from palettes and additional paint left on bottles were used to make this artwork. It IS possible to make something out of nothing. Literally one man's trash is another's treasure. If mankind would reuse more of what he throws away, the earth would be a lot cleaner and less cluttered with things that harm nature.

This piece was made up of old jewelry and left over beads, pieces of a broken wall hanging, as well as some new charms and pendants. This was done intentionally to portray how things that were old and broken could be combined with new to make something beautiful. Nothing is wasted in life; it is all part of the journey and beautiful.

As I had never worked with alcohol inks before, I decided I would practice my technique on paper before using my canvas. Having thrown out my first attempt for being nothing but a great ugly blob and melting my second one with a hairdryer that was too hot, I managed to produce this piece. I learned that to capture the flow of the ink, it was best to let it sit a moment and then see where it wanted to move. A life lesson for certain as we must all sometimes relinquish control and learn to work with what we are given.

In the swirling chaos that surrounds our lives, the individual moments seem overwhelming and confusing. When you step back all the parts create a unique experience that is a wonderful, colorful picture of all the moments together.b

If you look closely, there are many abstract images in this painting.

Abstract flowers to bring peace and comfort to those who view it.

The healing quilt is a visible journey of the challenges folks often face with serious surgeries and illnesses and no promise of success. How hard it must be to fight, maintain hope and courage, and hold your head high during the unknown.

Symbolized here with red for anger and pain, blue for tears, purple for hope, green for growth. The gold thread for God's comfort, presence, and promise to never fail us. Hearts for those who support us and the lines of a journey not always straight, but hopefully forward. Finally, it's a quilt providing warmth and comfort for all who climb under her.

The exterior can be a thing of beauty but those on the outside rarely know the complications one might be tested with on the inside. Health tests the essence of our vulnerability. There will always be light hidden in the dark, and conversely, dark in the light in our journeys with disease. Some of my most cherished growth and friendships have evolved in my battles with cancers. I am grateful that just enough light lit my path on this journey allowing me growth and happiness amidst any tears.

In Japan, broken objects are often repaired with gold. The flaw is seen as a unique piece of the object’s history which adds to its beauty. Please consider this when you feel broken.

I took this photo at a state park. The tree was arched over and damaged whether by a storm or the age of the tree. In that moment, I saw wonderful and deep beauty in what others would possibly avoid. Then, looking beyond the splintering damage that will result in loss and removal, we see hope for a future and fellowship at the picnic tables. We see other trees to enjoy. Life's storms or wounds can be many – physical, relational, spiritual, financial, or unmet needs, and the list goes on. Yet, so often we need to look beyond the suffering, the hurt, the loss, and the lack to see what can bring joyful moments in our everyday lives.

In my work, I turn my attention to the overlooked and sometimes unwanted. The weeds that push through the cracks grow wild in the fields and persist in many places they are not invited. By shifting perspective and looking closely, I see the quiet strength and surprising beauty hidden within these resilient plants. From unexpected angles, their forms, textures, and patterns become something more than a nuisance. They become beautiful symbols of persistence, adaptability and unrecognized grace. Through this exploration, I invite others to reconsider what is dismissed as ordinary and undesirable, and to find wonder in the resilience of life.