My practice emerges from a constant process of questioning of myself, my surroundings, and the histories that shape both. I work across drawing, painting, photography, sculpture, and performance, allowing each project to unfold in the medium that feels most responsive to the ideas at hand. Rather than committing to a single form, I let the concept lead, often starting with a feeling, a fragment of language, or a moment from memory. Making, for me, is a way of thinking, an intuitive space where personal reflection and broader cultural inquiry meet.

I often find myself returning to themes of identity, memory, and the body, not through intention alone, but because these are the questions that seem to persist. Quietly shaping my experiences, resurfacing in unexpected ways. I carry stories that are both my own and not mine alone, shaped by place, by time, and by systems much larger than myself. My work becomes a way to examine how these histories live on in the present: in the body, in relationships, in silence.

As someone who grew up between worlds - culturally, socially, and economically - I’ve long been aware of how belonging can feel conditional, and how identity is often shaped by what is withheld as much as what is given. These early experiences of being between places, of not fully fitting into any one narrative, continue to inform how I move through the world and how I make work. My practice becomes a space where I can hold contradictions, trace longings, and give voice to what was once unspeakable.

The body, in my work, is more than subject - it is a vessel of memory, a site of negotiation, a witness. It carries the visible and invisible marks of history. I return to it often, not only to explore how race, gender, and power are inscribed upon it, but also to ask what it remembers, what it resists, and how it survives. I’m particularly interested in how systems of hierarchy shape our understanding of ourselves and one another in subtle, often unspoken ways.

What keeps me working is a quiet insistence on visibility, not spectacle, but a kind of revealing. I’m drawn to what’s easily overlooked, emotionally charged, or unresolved. My process is slow and accumulative. I collect fragments, stories, gestures, impressions; sometimes without knowing why, trusting that meaning will emerge over time. In this way, making becomes not only a practice of art, but also a practice of remembering, and of making sense.