There are stories that resist language.
That’s why I paint.

My practice begins where words fall short—at the edge of identity, memory, and emotion. I create from a space where the self feels fragmented and in flux, like a memory blurring at the edges. My work explores what we choose to reveal and what remains concealed; how we construct, interrupt, and sometimes erase ourselves in a world that often asks for coherence.

I work across scales—from intimate canvases to large-format murals on reclaimed doors or urban walls. For me, scale is emotional: a mural becomes a body, a threshold; a small canvas, a whisper or confession. Both invite closeness, but in different ways.

I’m drawn to materials with memory—surfaces that already hold a story before I touch them. Old paper, weathered textures, architectural fragments. I layer silence and interruption, paint and pause. I use vibrant neons, faded pastels, glitches, and monochromes. Color is my emotional vocabulary—each tone a tension, a memory, a contradiction.

The characters I paint are not portraits. They are constructed beings—imagined, yet deeply human. They emerge through shadow, glitch, and partial opacity. They are shaped by both analog gestures and digital noise. They don’t seek to define identity, but to reflect its multiplicity and instability.

My process is intuitive but intentional. I embrace imperfection, interruption, and fragmentation as forms of truth. I paint to hold what is fleeting, what shifts when we try to name it. Every piece is a portal—a place where absence and presence coexist.

Through these visual fragments, I offer not answers but invitations. A moment to pause, feel, and perhaps recognize a part of yourself in what flickers, fades, or persists.