I work in abstraction because it is the only language that lets me tell the truth without deciding on it first.

Each painting begins without a plan. I let the brushstroke arrive before the meaning does, working intuitively through acrylics, oil pastels, charcoal and thread, letting the materials resist and cooperate in equal measure. Thread, stitched directly into the painted surface, holds a particular place in my practice: it is repair and rupture at once, a record of the hand returning to something already marked, already changed.

Becoming, my current body of work, sits at the center of this. It does not treat transformation as a path toward a final, resolved self. It treats it as the condition itself, ongoing, unfinished, sometimes contradictory. I'm interested in what happens when we stop measuring growth as a straight line and let it be what it actually is: fragmented, recursive, occasionally undone and stitched back together.

There is a cultural pressure to optimize, to arrive, to become a better version of yourself on schedule. My work pushes back against that. It asks the viewer to sit inside uncertainty instead of resolving it, to feel a piece before defining it, to witness process rather than product.

Painting, for me, is where control and surrender negotiate. It is where I access something less filtered than what I present elsewhere. Each canvas is a record of attention, a moment of honest movement, and an invitation to the viewer to stay a while in their own becoming.