Today we’d like to introduce you to Shen AKA ShenShen210.
Hi Shen, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
At 15, my father told me I was a mistake.
Not exactly the pep talk a teenager dreams about. But that same year, I picked up a spray can—and something electric surged through me. I didn’t know I was becoming the first female graffiti artist on the West Coast. I just knew I had something powerful in my hands. I knew I was made for more.
By 16, I was airbrushing T-shirts live at Six Flags. Through the ’90s, I painted up and down California in my white cargo van, Gypsy—self-taught, scrappy, and sold out to the vision God planted in me. I hustled fairs, murals, and storefronts—anywhere I could bring beauty from the broken.
Eventually, a single Marilyn Monroe painting in Vail caught the attention of a Ritz-Carlton manager, opening doors to high-end galleries, celebrity collectors, and museum shows. Later, I was named Best New Exhibitor at Art Basel Miami.
From the outside, it looked like success. But inside, I was still battling shame, believing the old lie that I didn’t matter. And then—Jesus met me in the wreckage. Not at the top, but in the undoing.
He rewrote everything.
My :Breaking Free: series marks the moment I stopped creating for approval and started painting from a place of deep truth and radical faith. My work became a sacred rebellion—a radiant echo of healing and hope.
And then came restoration.
After years of struggle, God brought a new season: a redemptive marriage, a new name, and a fresh purpose. My husband is my steady place, my biggest fan, and my partner in both life and mission. Together, we lovingly homeschool our two teenage daughters, raising them to be strong, faith-filled, creative young businesswomen.
A detour to New York turned into a divine redirection when we unexpectedly landed in Nashville, Tennessee—closing on our dream home on Easter morning. Since then, I’ve painted live at the Franklin Theatre, exhibited in Paris, Fort Worth, Jackson Hole, Telluride, and Nashville, and collaborating on Art in Motion—an international fashion-meets-art project founded by Ofelia Cuevas and inspired by her husband, legendary designer Manuel Cuevas, “The Rhinestone Rembrandt”
Now, I’m considering opening a gallery and creative headquarters—a vibrant hub for bold, faith-fueled art, community events, and mentorship. A place where beauty and truth collide. Where others can encounter hope, healing, and purpose through creativity.
Because this isn’t just art.
This is a calling.
This is legacy.
And the best is yet to come.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Learning to be an entrepreneur wasn’t just difficult—it was a crash course in perseverance, identity, and trust.
I never went to business school. I went to the school of “figure it out or fold.” I was a teenage graffiti artist with a dream and a spray can, navigating a male-dominated art world with no roadmap. I had to learn everything the hard way—how to price my work, how to negotiate, how to get paid without selling my soul.
Early on, I said yes to everything. I undervalued my time, gave away my talent, and constantly over-delivered just to prove I was worth it. As a woman of faith trying to lead with integrity in the marketplace, it felt like swimming against two currents—creative chaos and capitalism.
There were seasons I didn’t know how I was going to eat, much less how I was going to scale. I made costly mistakes—bad partnerships, burnout, and plenty of tears. But I also gained wisdom that no textbook could offer.
As of late, the Periscope Artist Entrepreneur Program, by the Arts & Business Council of Nashville, has been a game changer. It gave me the language, tools, and strategy I needed to turn my mission-driven art into a sustainable, scalable business—without losing my soul in the process.
Now, I want to help other creatives do the same. I want to show artists that the business side isn’t something to fear—it can be joyful, freeing, and deeply fulfilling. I’m still figuring out what that looks like, but I know this: the breakthrough I found might just become someone else’s blueprint.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I’m a storyteller disguised as an artist. Or maybe an artist disguised as a firestarter. Either way, my work is rooted in beauty, faith, and sacred rebellion.
I specialize in mixed media pieces that merge fine art with graffiti, fashion with Spirit, and struggle with redemption. I’m known for large-scale paintings that glow with color and emotion—often created live in front of an audience. Some pieces include hidden elements only visible in the dark, others feature real fabric, handwritten prayers, or collaged vintage ephemera. Each one is layered with meaning.
What sets my work apart is its energy. People often say they feel something when they stand in front of it—like they’ve been seen, or reminded of something eternal. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. There’s movement in the brushstrokes, and a story in the splatter.
I’m most proud of the moments no one sees: like when a teenage girl came up after a live painting and said, “I didn’t know you could love God and still be this bold.” Or the time a homeless man burst into tears when he saw I’d painted butterflies in his tunnel “just for him.” Or when a combat veteran stood in silence, staring at a piece, then finally whispered, “That’s what it feels like coming home.”
That’s the work. Helping people feel seen. Reconnecting them to hope. And doing it all while building a legacy of light—with my daughters, my faith, and a brush dipped in eternity.
What were you like growing up?
Growing up, I was quiet. Shy. I often felt like an outsider—like I was born into the wrong planet, but handed a paintbrush to survive it.
My parents were both musicians. Music ran through our house like a lifeline—my mom playing the organ with elegance and ease, my dad blaring bugle reveille to wake us up on weekends. Creativity wasn’t just encouraged—it was in our DNA. They both supported my art from the start.
My mom was stunning. A model with fire in her step and fringe in her closet. She was glamorous and unfiltered, and her motto—“If they’re not talking about you, you’re doing something wrong”—echoed through our house like a challenge. She let me paint anything I wanted, trusted my instincts, and always believed I was meant for something big.
My dad was complicated. A vintage antique dealer with a showman’s charisma and a storm beneath the surface. He once told me I was a mistake—but he also took me to flea markets, taught me how to flip junk into treasure, and proudly watched me turn paint into magic.
But pain lived alongside the art. My grandmother took her life. Years later, my father did too.
I know what it’s like to carry silence. To feel like you’re unraveling. And I believe, without art and Jesus, I wouldn’t be here either.
Art gave me language. Jesus gave me healing.
Now, I paint to reach the misfits, the aching, the overlooked. To say: You are not alone. You are not forgotten. And your story still matters.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://shenstudio.com
- Instagram: shenshen210
- Facebook: shenshen210
- Youtube: shenshen.210
