My work speaks when I cannot. As a foreign-born artist who has spent 10 years living in the United States during a time of global uncertainty and upheaval, I often carry emotions I don’t show: loss, fear, and a persistent anxiety about an unknowable future. These private experiences live quietly within me, but they find a voice through my art.

Through ceramics, illustration, and multimedia work, I explore the fragile connections between ourselves and the world we inhabit—both the natural world and the societies we navigate. The organic forms I create often resemble something familiar yet otherworldly: vessels that carry memory, ears that strain to listen, buds on the verge of blooming, thorns that both protect and wound, and thin leaves that form delicate shelters—symbolizing a refuge that feels both necessary and uncertain. These objects emerge from my own longing to feel rooted in a place, to reconcile belonging with displacement, and to honor both the tenderness and tension of being human in this era.

My practice is also an act of witness. I want to give shape to the unspoken feelings many people like me carry—those who live far from home, whose futures feel suspended, and whose identities are constantly in negotiation. I hope my work can create a space where vulnerability is not hidden but shared, where our uncertainties can become something to hold and even cherish.

Nature is a constant in my life and my art, not as an idealized refuge but as a reflection of resilience and transformation. The textures I use—lava glazes, skin-like surfaces, delicate thorns—are reminders that growth and survival are often messy, painful, and beautiful all at once.

Ultimately, my art is a quiet call for connection: between people, places, and selves. It is how I listen to the world—and how I speak back.