From medicine, I kept the gesture: that way of scraping at the scab until red bursts forth, of searching for life beneath the skin, within the invisible cellular realm.
My art is not decoration — it is a pharmacopoeia.
… OR
– I slip into a vivid dress
– I take the streets
to see if I am visible
– if blood has spread far enough
– if anyone will speak
of our shared scars.
CHAOS TO INNER ARCHITECTURE
long time on paths
when words fail, I invent my language
– in geometry
– in asemic writing
chaos to order
– tame entangled tongues
– build inner architecture…
gesture
– intuitive, almost affective
– I channel a human presence
– absent
– not yet found
– not yet embodied.
RESILIENCE AND FRAGILITY
the tree tortured by the elements
– keeps growing
– even without standing
it understands my story
the tree IS my story
ROOTS AND BELONGING
root
– even in sand
cling
– even carried by the wind
hold
– even before being cut
My practice evolves in response to each space, grounding my work in its atmosphere. I draw on what already exists, allowing each piece to emerge without compromising the place or its memory.