About Me
I'm Ronda Rogers, a painter based in South Carolina. I paint people, animals, and landscapes — mostly because I'm drawn to faces and creatures that hold some kind of quiet strength. Faith runs through almost everything I make, not as a theme I chose, but because it's the actual lens I see through. Keep reading if you want the real story behind that — it's not the tidy version. I’m a juried member of the Charleston Art Guild and an associate member of the Summerville Art Guild — communities that keep me connected, accountable, and growing.

Where This Started
I've always been creative — scrapbooking, crochet, whatever I could get my hands on growing up. But drawing and painting were never part of that; I didn't think I had it in me. For my birthday one year, a friend bought me canvas, paints, and brushes. They sat in my closet for about six months until she talked me into finally trying it, one evening at one of our monthly craft nights.

I painted something abstract — just colors, nothing "real." But seeing it finished, knowing I'd made something with my own hands that actually looked beautiful, did something to me. I was addicted after that night. I haven't touched a scrapbook since. Painting took over that space completely.

Not long after, everything seemed to fall apart at once — my daughter moved out, my dog died, and my husband took on a second job so we could save for a house. I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt alone, like I'd lost my purpose. That's when I actually started painting for real, teaching myself one YouTube video at a time.

My Artistic Approach
I taught myself to paint with acrylics from YouTube videos, with no real training and no idea what I was doing. It wasn't until I enrolled in the Milan Art Institute that I learned to actually draw — not just copy — along with oil painting, charcoal, and mixed media. I never thought I'd be able to paint people at all. My first real portrait attempt there — a "monster portrait" assignment that forced me to lay down color without blending — took three tries before it looked like anything at all. It wasn't until a later charcoal portrait that painting faces started to feel less like fighting and more like understanding.

For a long time, I painted safe. Exactly what the reference showed, nothing more — not because I was chasing a sale, but because that's just who I was. Working with a wellness coach changed that, on canvas and off it. "Moon's Breath" was the first time I let go of the reference and painted what I felt instead of just what I saw. The light pours down over her from above, warm rather than cool — even though the piece grew out of a breathing exercise built around visualizing the moon's cool light moving through the body. I painted it warm anyway, because that's what the moment actually felt like. Everything around her stays in motion, moody and unresolved. She's the only still, lit thing in the whole canvas.

What Inspires Me
Animals get the same treatment as people, in a way. "Destiny Fulfilled" is still my favorite piece I've painted (now part of a private collection). The lion's eyes feel like they're watching you — intense, almost too aware. I'm drawn to that kind of strength, in lions and big cats especially, but also in horses, which hold something different: serene and powerful at the same time, never fighting each other.

I know when a painting is right before I ever touch a brush to it. I'll work through a composition over and over until something in it makes me feel it — and when that happens, I can't wait to get into the studio. When it's wrong, I feel that too. The piece just won't come together, and I let it go.

My Hope for You
Somewhere out there, someone is in a season that feels dark, like there's no way out. I think about that more than you'd expect. If you're that person — I hope you find something in this work that lets you breathe. Just that, first. Not fixed, not emboldened, not instantly strong. Just able to exhale. I believe the rest — the courage, the strength, the light — comes after that, not before it. But it has to start with breath.

A Few Notes
My studio practice is rooted in prayer, reflection, and gratitude. I believe art can be a form of worship — a way of honoring the beauty God has placed in the world and in us.

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