My name is Luminous Antonio, and I was born an artist—though no one around me ever would’ve pointed that out.

I went to Catholic school where art wasn’t part of the world. Catechism was embedded in everything. But in high school, I managed to skip gym class and squeeze into a wood carving class. The teacher marveled at what I made. I wish I still had that piece.

Not long after, I bought myself a canvas and some oil paints and painted my first painting: a purple mountain. I didn’t know why I chose that subject, but years later I learned that purple mountains often symbolize spiritual strength, elevation, and a connection to the divine. For my life—and for so many of our lives—that makes sense.

That moment was the beginning of a lifelong journey.

Later, I started picking things out of the trash and selling them at flea markets. One thing led to another—I opened shops, then became an art and antique dealer specializing in 18th to 20th century American and European works. I sold to major auction houses like Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and Doyle.

I spent over a decade inside museums, galleries, and auction rooms. I’ve handled, studied, and lived among more art than most people ever will.

My father was proud that I could make a great living selling art—even if it wasn’t mine. But deep inside, I still longed to make it.

When I moved from New York to San Francisco, I walked into the San Francisco Art Institute thinking I might buy a print. I walked out with an application. Six years later, I had earned two degrees and painted hundreds of works. I opened a gallery studio in Marin County and began to fully claim my place as a working artist.

I’ve had studio spaces as small as a card table and as large as 1,200 square feet. Sometimes, I took odd jobs—delivering newspapers at 3 a.m., cleaning houses—just to have the time and space to paint. I’ve gone broke and rebuilt myself more than once. But I never stopped making art.

“You will never work hard enough to get the money to buy the time to do the thing you want to do.”

That line has guided me. I’ve worked hard. I’ve supported myself as a single woman, without a trust fund or a backup plan. And no matter how many curveballs life threw at me, I kept painting.

Because for me, art is not optional.

It’s the place I return to again and again—with my joy, grief, longing, questions—and turn all of it into something alive.