The wall as canvas, the body as language.

Painting murals has always felt like a return to my origin story. I don’t consider them part of a fixed series—each one is born from a unique context: a specific wall, a city, a gesture, a passing moment. But together, they form an ongoing conversation.

When I paint a mural, I’m not decorating—I’m inhabiting. I respond to architectural space with my body, my pigments, and my voice. I let emotion stretch across the surface. Sometimes a face emerges, sometimes flowers, sometimes graffiti textures or shadows. I never repeat a mural. I let it be unrepeatable, like the moment it belongs to.

Each one becomes a dialogue between structure and sensation—between the built world and the emotional landscape. I’m interested in how color and gesture can alter the perception of space, how a wall can become a portal, a mirror, or a witness.

These murals are not only about scale—they are about presence, vulnerability, and claiming space. They carry fragments of who I am: layered, imperfect, and fully alive. Even when the wall changes or is painted over, something of the piece remains—like a phantom of emotion that once took form.