Brigitte

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Sigrid Wharton doesn’t just paint or write—she conjures. Her world is carved from velvet dust and stormlight, where wild women rise from deserts, clutch guitars like spells, and bloom even as they burn. Her oil paintings and mixed media pieces are bold, cinematic, and unapologetic—neon skies blaze behind sirens with blood-red lips and cracked opal eyes. In contrast, her watercolours and poetry whisper from the other side of the veil—symbols stitched in smoke, holding grief, transformation, and sacred mystery. Her poetry moves like blood and prayer, telling of fireflies lighting paths through trauma, roots threading through the body, and hearts buried to be revived by crickets. Together, her art and writing complete the spell: one is the vision, one is the voice. Sigrid paints like a priestess. She writes like a storm. And every piece she creates carries the pulse of something ancient, feminine, and unafraid.