About Me — The Artist and the Wound

I am not an artist who paints for beauty.
I paint because I must. Because if I don’t, the silence becomes too loud. The sorrow was too heavy.
Art is the only language I trust when the world forgets how to speak.

I don’t create to follow trends.
I create to survive.
To remember. To resist.
To honor what I’ve lost.
To give a voice to those who have no voice.

My name is Sanda Sudor, and I am a visual storyteller, a woman shaped by time, grief, love, rebellion, and doubt—yes, especially doubt.

I paint portraits of souls.
Some I know. Some I’ve only imagined. Some never existed—except in that fragile borderland between thought and flesh.
draw with pencil, charcoal, paper and pain. I let the scratches speak. I let the texture carry what words cannot.

My daughter Alina, gone too soon, remains the pulse behind every line I trace.
Art keeps her alive. Art keeps me alive.
That’s why this is not a career. This is a declaration of resistance. This is Art to Live.

I have painted mountains that made me cry, because I recognized myself in their silent strength. I have created monochrome works that speak of shadow and stillness, of solitude that is sacred. I have rediscovered the miracle of paper after forty years, and with it, I returned to the raw essence of creation.

My journey is not linear.
There are contradictions. There is rage and tenderness.
There are old scars, new visions, and a constant search for truth.

But if you look closely, through the layers of pigment and memory, you’ll find the same flame.
The same need.
To feel.
To ask.
To transform.

Because I believe this:
Art is not made to decorate. It is made to disturb, to awaken, to love fiercely.
And if it hurts, then it is alive. Just like me.