- Artist Carla was painting a huge canvas in Los Angeles when she fell three metres from a ladder and impaled her hand on her own paintbrush
- After waiting eight hours to seek medical treatment, she went into septic shock and was warned she could lose her hand
- Despite losing the use of her left hand, Carla has taught herself to paint with her right hand and remains determined to pursue her dreams
Here Carla Negron, 41, tells her story in her own words
Warning: The contents of this article contain graphic content
Gently stroking my paintbrush across the canvas, I took a step back to assess my work.
It’s coming together, I smiled to myself.
Aged 40, I still sometimes struggled to believe I was getting paid to create art.
From an early age, I’d loved drawing. Whenever I left the house I’d pack my coloured pencils and a sketchpad in my backpack.
One day when I was six, my mum Aurin, then 46, took me to the local library where I won an art competition.
The prize was art classes at a museum.
There I discovered painting, trading in my pencils for a paintbrush!
I loved to let my imagination run wild on the canvas and was often inspired by nature.
In May 2012 I set up my Instagram account @carlanegronstudio to share my creations.
Your work is spectacular, one personcommented.
The colours inspire me, wrote another.
Between raising my two kids, Santos and Victoria, I began showcasing my art in local exhibitions and overseas, across the US.
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It was so fulfilling.
Sadly, in 2020, my marriage with the kids’ dad broke down and we divorced.
It was a difficult time and, afterwards, I was desperate to do something for myself.
So when Mum offered to look after the kids, then 14 and 11, for a bit so I could chase my dreams in the US,
I knew I had to take the opportunity.
Leaving, I missed my family terribly but spoke with them on the phone every day.
In America, I knocked on gallery doors around Los Angeles, hoping they’d allow me to exhibit my work in their spaces.
Incredibly, one gallery owner and his wife were fans of my work, and offered me the chance to live and work in their art studio for 12 months.
This is my moment to do what I was born to do,I thought.
Living and working in the same space meant if I had random bursts of inspiration, I could paint at all hours of the day.
In February 2023, when I was working on a three by two metre-wide canvas, I lost track of time and ended up
painting for 36 hours.
With no food or sleep, I felt like I was delirious.
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But I had a fire in my belly and was determined to finish the piece.
When a friend came to check on my progress, he was concerned.
‘You need to take a break,’ he said.
But I couldn’t stop. I had to finish.
Staying to keep an eye on me, he pulled up a chair and watched me work.
As I stood on the very top step of a ladder, reaching up to the top of the canvas, suddenly, I lost my footing.
Toppling head first to the ground three metres below, I was still holding my paintbrush as I reached out to try and break my fall.
Hitting the concrete with a thud, intense pain seared through my left hand. Lifting it up, I was horrified to see the wooden handle sticking out.
I’d fallen on top of it with such force, it’d pierced my palm and was poking six centimetres through the back of my hand.
I couldn’t believe I’d been impaled by my own paintbrush.
Wiggling my fingers, I could feel the handle pressing up against bone.
The pain was horrific.
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In shock, I grasped the brush end with my right hand and yanked out the paintbrush before my friend, who’d rushed to my side, could stop me.
Immediately, blood gushed from the wound, pooling on the ground in front of me.
‘We need to get you to hospital,’ he urged, as I applied antiseptic then covered the wound in a bandage to stem the blood.
In my confused, irrational state, I was determined to finish my artwork.
With every minute that passed, though, the pain grew more unbearable.
By the time I was done, eight hours had passed and the wound was swollen and oozing with pus.
I knew I needed help.
Making our way to the emergency room, docs were in disbelief of my unfortunate accident.
An X-ray showed a piece of the paintbrush handle was still inside my hand.
And because I’d waited so long to seek treatment, my body had gone into septic shock, causing my organs to shut down.
‘You might lose your hand,’ a surgeon warned as I was wheeled into surgery.
Thankfully, my hand was saved after all the debris was removed.
I feel so stupid for not getting help sooner, I thought, as I recovered on the ward.
Three weeks later I was sent home with antibiotics.
I also had to debride the wound every two days which was incredibly painful.
Not wanting to burden my family, I didn’t tell them about the accident initially, especially as Covid restrictions prevented us from travelling to see each other anyway.
I worked with a physio to try to restore the range of motion and strength in my hand.
But after six months, I still couldn’t close my grip on a brush.
‘You might never regain the feeling in your hand,’ the physio explained.
I was crushed.
A year on, my scars have faded, but I’ve lost the use of my left hand.
Determined not to let it ruin my life, I’ve learned to do everything, including paint, using my right hand.
Mum and my kids Santos, now 17, and Victoria, 13, are incredibly supportive of me.
What happened to me was such a freak accident, but it won’t stop me chasing my dreams!
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