A deadly brain cancer diagnosis inspired this Bay Area artist's most personal work

It started with flashing lights.

Vincent Serritella woke up the morning of Dec. 5 to dancing sparks in his vision. He wrote them off at first - he thought he was tired, spending too much time in front of a screen - but then, while typing at his computer, he noticed he couldn't see his left hand.

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Vincent, 50, is an artist, and not being able to see was alarming. He went to his eye doctor, who referred him, the same day, to another doctor who specializes in vision problems related to the brain. That doctor sent him to the hospital, where within hours he was told there was a tumor in his brain, pressing on his optic nerve.

Three days later he was in brain surgery for glioblastoma, a deadly cancer.

Three months after that, Vincent was painting the portrait of his brain surgeon.

A Marin County artist whose works have hung at the de Young Museum in San Francisco and galleries across the country, Vincent also worked as a visual effects artist at Pixar on some of the studio's best-known animated movies.

He plans to paint 41 portraits of the people who have cared for and supported him through his illness. He invites his subjects into his tidy studio, attached to the home he shares with his wife in San Rafael, then spends two hours with them, painting and talking and just sharing a thoughtful energy.

It's a gift, Vincent said, for the sitter and for himself. The first hour is usually quiet as he focuses on their face and thinks of all the ways this person has shown up for him. He silently thanks them as he paints, his gratitude becoming a part of the portrait.

"I'm just so incredibly moved and touched by how much care and how many people have gone into my recovery," Vincent said. "That's essentially what sparked this idea. I didn't know how to express how much gratitude I had and how thankful I was for their time and what they're doing for me."

A different kind of recovery

Vincent's brain surgery was about as successful as he could have hoped, and the surgeon was able to remove all of the tumor he could see. It took him months to recover from the operation and some complications after the fact, but he's feeling good now. He goes for walks daily and out on his bike once a week, and he said he's recovered much of the strength he lost after the surgery.

Still, Vincent may die of glioblastoma - most people with this cancer do within a year. The tumors are vicious, spreading rootlike into healthy brain tissue. Though his surgery went well, there probably are microscopic cancer cells still in Vincent's brain. He's undergone radiation and chemotherapy, and is currently wearing a device that delivers electrical fields to his brain designed to interrupt cancer cell division.

He's been treated at Sutter Health's California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco, which has been boosting its neuro-oncology program in preparation for a new center opening in 2028.

Indeed, three months before Vincent showed up at the hospital, Sutter had hired Dr. Akanksha Sharma, a neuro-oncologist who also specializes in palliative care for people with brain cancer. Being assigned to a palliative care doctor can be upsetting for some patients, she said, but the idea isn't to prepare for death so much as to live life as well and fully as they can amid a horrible diagnosis.

"You have to live your life. You do your best, you still talk about the future and plan for the future," Sharma said - but she also talks with patients about their legacy, and what they want to leave behind.

"The majority of my patients are not living in any illusion that they will have the same full life. They're taking the time to learn to live in the moment," she said. "People will say to me that they seem almost too happy. And I'm like, ‘You're allowed to be happy.'"

"Both things can live together," she said. "You can accept that ‘this is a terrible thing that might shorten my life,' but we can also do things that make you happy."

Living with glioblastoma

She talked with Vincent and his wife about communication, and how much Vincent wanted to know about his own illness; he's decided he only wants positive news, or major changes in his condition, and his wife will handle all of the updates, good and bad. She also talked with them about gratitude, "which some people think is flighty and woo-woo," she said, but Vincent latched onto.

He was on board with Sharma's way of thinking from the start. The first time they met, the day after Vincent learned about the tumor and before she knew he was an artist, Sharma recommended he tap into his creative side. She explained that art, music, dance and other creative endeavors can improve neuroplasticity and help people recover.

"I'm like, I've got you covered," he said with a laugh.

The seed for his portraits was planted when he got his diagnosis. Vincent can recall in stark detail the moment he learned he had a brain tumor and how his world shifted.

"I've never felt so present than that moment," Vincent said. He remembers sitting on a gurney in the emergency room with his wife by his side. A neurosurgeon came in with results of his MRI and pointed out the tumor. It was dark in the room, and cool, and "I just felt the entire world tune into this moment"

"And then everything disappeared that didn't matter," he said. "The only thing that mattered, suddenly, were the people I cared about and the people I loved. Everything else was so insignificant, like a dent on your car or scratch on the wall."

The neurosurgeon told Vincent that he would stay in the hospital and they would operate in three days. "I just went to see why I was having flashing lights in my eyes, and later that day I'm scheduling open brain surgery for Monday," Vincent said. "It was like a super whirlwind, things were moving so fast."

Almost immediately, people started showing up for Vincent and his wife, and he decided he wanted to capture that support in a series of portraits. Also, he said, "I just really wanted to get back in the studio. It was my happy place, my comfort zone, and I knew if I came back it was going to be healing."

An act of faith

The first portrait was just a month after surgery, and his vision was still blurry; painting was like an act of faith. The portrait was of a neighbor, Steve, and at times Vincent felt as though he were painting from memory more than sight. His vision is much improved now, though he still has a pie-shaped blind spot in his left eye.

"In some ways they're here and they're in front of me, but I'm painting them from what I remember of them," Vincent said. "And that's where the emotional part comes out. I'm not focused on their likeness but more like their spirit, who they are."

He's painted 30 portraits so far, all quick, colorful studies in a mix of mediums - graphite, acrylic-gouache, charcoal and oil. They're very different in style from his better known pieces, which are more of a pop art mixed with hyper-realism.

"Before all this, I would always ask, ‘Where do I want this work to go? How does it fit in the context of contemporary art? What gallery might be interested in this? Could I submit it to some museum curators? '" Vincent said. "You're always kind of thinking of the career of the art or the artist.

"But I truly, truly, for the first time, just threw all that aside. I just wanted to make."

There's an intimacy to the portraits, which hang in neat rows on his studio walls. Walking into the space, their faces are like a physical presence - Vincent said he can feel the support emanating from the walls.

"It means so much to me to walk in this room every day and see and be reminded, every morning, who is there for me, who at any moment I could reach out to," Vincent said.

The first rows of portraits are of his neighbors and family. There's Steve, who visits with Vincent when his wife goes out, in case he faints or has a seizure. Roger helps with chores around the house, and his wife, Jan, takes Vincent on walks. Mike, who lives up the street, is 81 and insists on dragging their garbage cans to the curb every week.

Vincent painted his wife, Marissa, and his mother and mother-in-law and sister. The portrait of his wife brings him to tears now, because he can see in her face the curiosity as she watched him work, but the love and fear too.

The first portrait of a doctor is Vincent's neurosurgeon, Dr. Michael Zhang. He's painted in civilian clothes, a red shadow framing him. His portrait hangs between another of Vincent's neighbors and his mother. Vincent already has painted his radiologist, and he did Sharma's portrait on Saturday.

"I love that my mom is next to my neurosurgeon," Vincent said. He noted that most of his subjects have never had their portrait painted, so in that sense his work is a gift to them. "Traditionally it's wealthy folks who can afford to get a custom oil-painted portrait," he said. "And I'm just taking the everyday person and humanizing the whole situation."

At some point, Vincent probably will paint his own portrait, too, he said. But he doesn't expect to hang it with the others. Their faces, and his hand and vision in their creation, tell the whole story.

"I feel like all of these paintings are my portrait," he said.

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This story was originally published May 31, 2026 at 10:43 AM.