Where Images First Lived | Zana Ranđelović-Brown

Some mornings begin before the world does. The studio is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels earned.

I stand barefoot on the floor, coffee warming one hand, a brush resting in the other, listening to the stillness before the day exhales into motion. These early hours are brief, sacred pauses in a full life-moments when time loosens its grip. Yet even in this stillness, I know I am standing inside something much older than this room, something that was forming long before I had language for it.

The story of why I paint begins long before this studio, long before New Orleans…

I was born in Serbia, shaped by a landscape of contrasts. My childhood unfolded between two worlds: a city life filled with structure and rhythm, and the wild, untamed freedom of Eastern Serbia’s forests, where days were spent running beneath towering trees, breathing in damp earth and moss, surrounded by nature that felt ancient and alive. Those forests raised me as much as people did. They whispered stories-of folklore, of spirits hidden in bark and shadow, of a world where Christianity and paganism braided together seamlessly. Nature wasn’t something separate; it was a presence. I was a wild child, curious and untethered. Untamed.

Then, as school began, the war arrived.

The second half of my childhood was shaped by war-torn Yugoslavia-by uncertainty, survival, and a constant undercurrent of tension. The outer world became unstable, so I turned inward. I grew quiet. Observant. Introverted in the way children become when they must make sense of things too large for language.

Inside, a rich inner world took shape. I spent hours developing characters, images, and stories-figures with hidden faces, mystical beings rooted in nature and memory. They belonged to the forests of my childhood and the folklore that lived there. They were protectors and witnesses. They carried emotion when words failed. Long before I understood painting, I was already creating visual worlds as a way to survive, to process, to understand. That inner world never left me.

My path later moved through Belgrade, then across the ocean to South Carolina, and eventually, almost inevitably, to New Orleans. From the moment I arrived in 2008, something clicked and I felt immediately at home. The city holds beauty and decay side by side-ritual and improvisation, grief and joy layered together. It felt like belonging.

These days, life moves fast. I balance motherhood, gallery, soccer games, social events ... Days fill quickly. And then there are the nights. Some evenings, after the house finally exhales into silence, I return to the studio. The light is low. The hum of the day still lingers in my body. That’s when I paint not to plan or perfect, but to release. To let everything move through me. These night sessions are sacred. They are where I unwind and process the emotional build-up of the day. In the dark hush of those hours, the canvas becomes my confessional. My mirror.

I still paint every single piece by hand, because I need to feel the work. The texture. The rhythm. The resistance. The energy of it.

Painting is a spiritual practice and I believe I am a vessel. I don’t invent ideas-I receive them. Whether it’s a whisper of memory, a sudden vision, or an emotion aching for form, something moves through me, and I listen, move and translate.

My work often takes the shape of feminine artwork-intuitive, layered, emotional, and quietly powerful. I call them Peaceful Warriors and Flowerhads. These feminine paintings explore inner worlds, presence, and transformation rather than surface beauty alone.

I am shaped by history-by war, by displacement, by survival…but also by beauty, devotion, and deep tenderness. My work is born from that alchemy: the transformation of ache into light, of disorder into harmony. It comes from a deeply human place where life, old world, motherhood, memory, and art intersect.

If you’ve ever collected my work, visited the gallery, or followed along, know that you are part of this story. You remind me that authentic expression, quiet devotion, and human creation still have a place in this rapidly changing world.

With love and paint-stained hands,

Zana Ranđelović-Brown

Photos by Ivan Corbolokovic of Europe Art Photography