My work emerges from a life shaped by devotion—first to home and family, and later, to art. For many years, I lived inside the architecture of caregiving: raising a child, moving across countries, and building a quiet, stable world behind the scenes. It was within that invisible labor that something wordless began to form—a need to make, to record, to reflect.
I returned to art gradually: first with pencils and sketchpads, then through formal study, and finally in the immersive space of an MFA. Each step was an act of remembering—of myself, and of the language I’d long carried but hadn’t spoken. My materials are often intimate—layered surfaces, traces of domesticity, objects that absorb time. I’m drawn to what holds and what frays.
Architecture—physical and emotional—has always shaped me. The rooms we inhabit, the walls we build, the homes we leave behind or remake—we carry them, not just in memory, but in the shape of our longings. My work holds that scaffolding: of space as witness, container, collaborator. In my work, I seek the pull of a doorway, the weight of a threshold, the way light remembers a room.
My recent work explores these thresholds—between past and present, containment and unraveling, devotion and rupture. Though much remains unsaid, it is deeply felt. I make not to resolve, but to endure—to hold the beauty and sorrow of a life in equal measure, and to offer form as a kind of refuge.