Life & Work with Anya Cherrice of Pasadena

Today we’d like to introduce you to Anya Cherrice

Hi Anya, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?
Art has been calling me for as long as I can remember. As a child, I sketched in the margins of my notebooks, painted through high school, and dreamed of applying to art school. I was captivated by color—the rich, sun-soaked greens of coconut trees, the golden warmth of a Caribbean sunset, the deep blues of the sea that seemed to stretch forever. But fear got in the way. Fear of what people would think, fear of choosing an impractical path, fear that my love for art wouldn’t be enough to sustain me.

So, I convinced myself to take a different route. I pursued journalism, then moved into branding, marketing, and tech—industries that still allowed me to tell stories, but in a way that felt… safer. Still, art found ways to whisper to me. In college, I casually hung three of my paintings in my dorm, dismissing every compliment as just kindness. Years later, two coworkers found my high school sketches and begged me to paint again, but I shrugged it off. I told myself I didn’t have the time, the money, or the permission to be an artist.

Then, in 2023, something changed.

I picked up my brushes again—not for a career, not for validation, but because I missed feeling like myself. And when I started painting, it was like my soul exhaled. I poured my memories, my longing, and my roots into the canvas. The lush, tropical landscapes of my childhood reemerged—rolling green hills brushed with gold, mango trees heavy with fruit, banana leaves stretching towards the sky, and the soft glow of sunrises that feel like a warm embrace. My paintings became a love letter to belonging, to nostalgia, to the quiet, sacred feeling of being surrounded by nature.

And as soon as I embraced my art, the world embraced it too. In just a year, I created a full body of work, exhibited in art shows, joined an art society, and had one of my paintings selected for a museum exhibition. Now, I specialize in Caribbean-inspired, nature-infused paintings that transform spaces into soulful sanctuaries. My collectors don’t just want art for their walls—they want art that feels like a sanctuary. They want to step into their space and feel grounded, warm, and surrounded by beauty.

I sometimes wonder where I’d be if I had trusted myself sooner. If I had ignored the fear and said yes to art years ago. But I also believe that what’s meant for you will always find you. And now, I get to spend my days painting vibrant, sun-drenched worlds that remind people—myself included—of the places we never want to leave.

We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Not even close. The journey of pursuing art has been anything but linear—it’s been winding, uncertain, and at times, deeply challenging. But every struggle has also been a lesson, shaping not just my work, but who I am as an artist and a person.

Pursuing art can feel like standing in the middle of an unmarked path, unsure if you’re walking in the right direction or if there’s even a destination at all. It’s risky. It’s expensive. And unlike traditional careers, there’s no clear blueprint for success—just trial and error, patience, and the hope that one day, your voice will not only be heard but valued.

One of the hardest parts was learning to trust my own creative instincts—to believe that what I was putting on the page was valid, meaningful, and worthy, even when no one was buying, no one was listening, or people just didn’t get it. It’s easy to internalize that silence, to wonder if your work is only valuable when someone else approves of it.

Time has also been a battle. For years, I told myself art wasn’t as important as my job, my responsibilities, the things that were “practical.” Making space for creativity felt indulgent, like something to be squeezed in if I had extra time—which, of course, meant I never did. It took unlearning that mindset to get to a place where I treat my creativity as seriously as eating, breathing, and connecting with the people I love.

And then there’s the external doubt—the quiet (and sometimes not-so-quiet) dismissal from others. The subtle, “Oh, that’s nice,” when you tell someone you’re an artist. The well-meaning advice to “have a backup plan.” The fear that people see your passion as a hobby rather than a calling. At first, that dismissal stung. Now, I see it for what it is—evidence of how much people struggle to understand creative careers. And that’s fine. They don’t have to get it. I do.

Despite all of this, I wouldn’t trade it. The challenges have shaped me, deepened my work, and made every win feel even more meaningful. Because when you push through the doubt, the uncertainty, and the quiet moments when it’s just you and the canvas, you realize something: your art doesn’t need permission to exist. It just needs you to keep showing up.

Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
My work is a love letter to the landscapes that shaped me—the golden light filtering through mango trees, the deep greens of towering coconut palms, the electric vibrancy of tropical flora. I create lush, nature-inspired paintings that capture both the freeness and serenity of the Caribbean. Through bold colors, layered textures, and sweeping landscapes, I want my pieces to feel like stepping into a memory—a place you may have been or a place you dream of finding.

When people first see my work, they often say it feels like warmth, like nostalgia, like a place they want to stay a little longer. That’s the feeling I strive to create—art that isn’t just seen, but felt.

I specialize in tropical landscapes and nature-infused compositions, using acrylics and mixed media to build depth and vibrancy. I pull from my roots, my travels, and the natural world around me to create paintings that feel alive—where the sun glows golden, the greenery stretches endlessly, and you can almost hear the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

One of my proudest moments as an artist was having my work accepted into a museum exhibition. To know that a piece I created resonated deeply enough to be included in such a space was both humbling and affirming. It reinforced what I already knew in my heart—this path, as uncertain as it has been at times, is the right one.

What sets my work apart is the way it connects with nature lovers, dreamers, and those who long for something lush and grounding in their space. If you love being in nature, if you crave the feeling of standing beneath towering trees, if you find peace in the way the sunlight dances through the leaves, then my art was made for you.

Let’s talk about our city – what do you love? What do you not love?
What I love most about Pasadena—and L.A. as a whole—is that it’s a city where dreamers feel at home. There’s something about being surrounded by people who are actively pursuing the most audacious versions of their lives that makes you feel like anything is possible. I think that’s why I feel like myself here. Creativity isn’t something you have to justify; it’s understood, embraced, and even expected.

Pasadena, specifically, has this beautiful balance—it’s slower, more walkable, with tree-lined streets and mountains that feel like they’re watching over you. It gives you space to breathe while still being connected to the creative energy of L.A.

That said, no matter where you are, finding true community takes effort. L.A. is full of people chasing big things, and while that’s inspiring, it can also mean that deep connections take time. But I’ve learned that the best way to find your people is to keep showing up as yourself—whether that’s through art, creativity, or just saying yes to new experiences.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://anyacherriceart.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/anyacherrice_art

Image Credits
Savannah Greenly