pause, reflect, and experience
Originally from Finland, I spent fifteen years in Los Angeles running a graphic design studio before stepping away from commercial art and its pressures. I relocated to the countryside outside San Diego, where my practice shifted fully into fine art. In 2012, I discovered San Felipe in Baja California and have since made South Campos my home.
I am a self-taught artist with over four decades devoted to art as a way to restore balance, clarity, and momentum. My background in graphic design and photography continues to inform my work—structure, movement, and visual discipline quietly underpin every piece.
When injustice entered my life and attempted to silence me, art became the place where I stayed standing. Over seven years of sustained personal and legal battles, painting became both refuge and resolve. During this time, I documented what was happening while continuing to work—holding space for truth when systems refused to. That documentation is now forming the foundation of an upcoming book.
What emerged in the studio was not softness, but focus. Not chaos, but force. My work carries that energy—strength that has learned to breathe.
I paint horses, water, storms, and wild systems because they don’t negotiate with fear. They move. They endure. They adapt. Each painting is a one-of-a-kind original, created without compromise or repetition. These works are not designed to decorate a space, but to hold it.
While the subjects may appear varied at first glance, they are bound by what could not be spoken before. The story they tell is singular—and mine.
Nature is my constant collaborator. Its power, rhythm, and restraint shape my work, guiding bold brushstrokes, layered textures, and saturated color. I aim to create a quiet confrontation between the viewer and the natural world—an invitation to pause, feel, and recognize strength reflected back.
My work is held in private collections worldwide.
— Leena
Art became my escape at twelve. I asked my dad for a giant roll of craft paper and a six-inch brush. He didn’t question it. He bought it. I moved the furniture off the walls in my bedroom, taped paper to three walls — my first triptych — and shut the door.
It was the dead of winter. Dark. Freezing. Wind howling like it had opinions. I opened the window anyway, put on a wool sweater that I had knitted, turned on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and painted for five straight hours. I disappeared into it. Finished a winter scene and loved it. Nervous about the disaster I’d made on the floor, I invited my parents in. They loved it too.
That moment never let go of me. I still jump in full force. I still disappear into the zone. I still feel the pull of I must create. And yes — Vivaldi is still involved.
