My work speaks when I cannot. I create sculptural work with a focus on ceramics, working across materials such as paper mache and drawing, using organic forms to explore how emotion, memory, and identity take shape.

Across my practice, I work with recurring elements drawn from nature and the body—flower buds, thorns, leaves, fingers, nipples, and ears. These forms are familiar but slightly altered, at times tender and at times unsettling. Surfaces range from black, lava-like textures to smooth, skin-like finishes marked with subtle bruising, alongside soft pink, flower-like tones. I bring these unrelated parts together, reorganizing them into new configurations that suggest unfamiliar, living forms. They can feel almost alien—strange yet intimate—inviting curiosity and a desire to look closer, to understand what they are. I am interested in how form can hold contradiction: protection and vulnerability, growth and decay, intimacy and distance.

My process begins with quiet, persistent feelings gathered from daily life. As an immigrant living between cultures, I carry a sense of displacement, uncertainty, and an ongoing negotiation of self. These emotions are not always visible in my everyday life, but they surface through making. Clay allows me to translate these internal states into physical form through touch, repetition, and slow construction. It is a material that resists control: drying takes time, surfaces crack, and firing introduces further unpredictability. I think of working with clay as a process of negotiation, where the material has its own tendencies and responses. Rather than forcing an outcome, I learn to adjust, respond, and accept uncertainty as part of the work. I also move between materials, allowing each to respond differently to the same emotional impulse. Surfaces become important sites of expression: smooth and skin-like, or rough and resistant, holding traces of pressure, care, and instability.

Nature runs through my work not as a backdrop, but as a way of thinking. I return to it to explore resilience and fragility without needing to explain them directly. A thin leaf can become a shelter that feels unstable. A bud suggests growth, but also hesitation. Thorns protect, but also wound. These elements extend the visual language of the work, allowing emotions to take form without being fixed or fully defined.

I make this work to give form to experiences that are often internal and unspoken. While rooted in my own life, the work extends beyond it. I think about others who live between places, identities, or expectations—those who carry quiet fears about the future, or who feel both connected and distant at the same time. I want the work to offer a space where these feelings can exist without needing to be resolved.

Ultimately, my practice is a way of listening and responding. It is a slow process of shaping what cannot easily be said, and offering it back into the world as something that can be seen, felt, and shared.