DesignerIllustratorWeb DesignerNiji Lover

in California

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Introduction

Hi, I’m Shannon.
Artist, designer, creative technologist, and someone who’s spent a lifetime figuring out how to make beauty out of hard things.

I’ve been in the design world for over 20 years—long enough to know what works, what doesn’t, and how to trust my instincts. I’ve built brands, directed teams, made things that live in the world, and helped people see themselves more clearly through design.

But behind the logos and layouts is someone who cares deeply about people—how they feel, what they carry, and what they’re afraid to say out loud.

Why I do this

I grew up around chaos. Mental illness. Substance abuse. A lot of silence, and even more noise. I became a mom at 16 and made a quiet vow to do things differently—to give my daughter what I never had: safety, love, and a sense of possibility.

Since then, I’ve learned how to survive, how to thrive, how to speak clearly, and how to listen even better.

That’s what led me to start The Quiet Power Project—a space for the deep feelers, the quiet rebels, the ones who’ve spent years shrinking themselves to make others comfortable. It’s a space for becoming, for unlearning, and for coming home to yourself.

What lights me up

Helping people find clarity.
Making things that feel honest.
Using technology to express what’s hard to say.
Sitting with someone in the hard stuff until it softens.
Being a safe place for weirdos, wonderers, and people who’ve always felt a little “too much.”

I use AI in my work—Midjourney, Photoshop, Illustrator—and I use it intentionally, combining my design background with storytelling, poetry, and visual emotion. It’s not about the tools. It’s about what they let me bring to life.

This is more than a career—it’s a way of being.

And if something I create helps someone feel seen, safe, or just a little less alone… that’s everything.

Artist Statement

Art has always been the language I trust most.
It’s how I’ve made sense of a life full of contradiction—chaos and comfort, grief and grace, silence and noise.

From the time I was little, drawing and writing poetry gave me a way to express things I didn’t have the words for. That need to create—to feel through my hands—has never left me.

My personal work lives somewhere between pop surrealism, lowbrow art, and punk energy. I’m drawn to the strange, the tender, the symbolic. Professionally, I’ve worked in corporate design for over 20 years, fluent in Illustrator, Photoshop, InDesign, and all the technical details that come with it. But it wasn’t until I discovered generative art in early 2022 that everything clicked in a new way.

Using Midjourney alongside Adobe tools became more than a process—it became a lifeline.
For a brain like mine—fast, nonlinear, curious, ADHD as hell—this hybrid workflow gave me the space to play, to iterate, and to say things I didn’t know I was holding. AI isn’t a threat to my creativity—it’s a partner. It’s allowed me to go deeper, faster, and more freely than any tool I’ve ever used.

My work often pulls from memory—big-eyed children like the ones in the paintings that hung in my grandfather’s house, the heavy beauty of Catholic iconography, the contradictions of faith and family I grew up with. I was raised by my grandmother in a household shaped by mental illness and control. I became a mother at 16 and was kicked out, only to be taken in by my paternal grandmother—a devout Catholic who showed me what unconditional love actually looks like.

That contrast between oppression and softness, judgment and grace, shows up again and again in my art. I don’t make work to provoke—I make it to hold. To say what’s hard to say. To create a space where people can feel seen and safe in their own contradictions.

I feel everything deeply. Always have.
I pick up on what others carry—even when they don’t say it. That sensitivity is my greatest creative tool. It’s what allows me to tell emotional truth through surreal forms, symbolism, and characters that don’t always look like what we’re used to seeing.

I believe everyone deserves to feel valid and free. That includes the characters in my work, especially those representing African American and LGBTQIA+ communities—people I care about deeply. I want those who’ve been left out of the frame to see themselves centered, celebrated, and fully human.

AI has expanded what’s possible for me creatively, and in doing so, it’s made my professional work better too. Not because it does the work for me—but because it lets me bring more of myself to the table.

At the end of the day, my hope is simple:
That something in my work makes you feel seen.
That it reminds you you’re not alone.
That it reflects something beautiful, complicated, and real—just like you.