Art provides a powerful lens through which to examine the culture in which it is created. Through my practice, I reflect on the intricate connections between culture, the self, and my studio, exploring how these intersections are shaped by the pressures, stresses, and relentless demands of contemporary life. My work is a response to the overwhelming pace of our world — the endless to-do lists, the constant pull of inboxes, and the never-ending desire for more time. In this frenetic environment, I see how our mental and physical well-being is compromised. I use mixed media and drawing to mirror the body's reactions to these external forces, using texture, repetition, and layered materials to embody the tangles and knots that form in our lives — both physically and psychologically.
The themes of entanglement and disconnection are central to my work. In a world that often gaslights us into questioning our own experiences, my art acts as a confrontation of those distortions. Gaslighting, a psychological manipulation that makes one doubt their own reality, becomes a metaphor for how we are increasingly conditioned to ignore our own physical and emotional needs in favor of an unattainable ideal of productivity. This sense of manipulation is reflected in the tangled, fragmented forms that recur throughout my work — forms that are both unravelling and being mended. I focus on the cyclical nature of wear and repair, both in the body and in our relationships, exploring how these repeated cycles of damage and healing define our lived experiences.
I have come to see my creative process as an act of negotiation between destruction and restoration. Through repeated actions — whether wrapping prints in lightweight clay, tearing matrixes, or layering paper — I enter a meditative space that allows me to process the tension between these forces. These repeated gestures mirror the physical manifestation of my mental state, a form of meditation that addresses the burden of modern life. It’s an exploration of how time itself is both a healer and a destroyer, a theme that intersects with my growing interest in "slow art."
Slow art is not about slowing down for its own sake, but about reclaiming a sense of humanity in a culture that increasingly reduces us to machines. In the rapid rush of technological advancement, we are often pushed forward without fully understanding the long-term consequences of our actions. We adapt, yet we do not pause to examine how these shifts impact us at a deeper level.
My work offers a counterpoint to this rush, inviting viewers to slow down, to observe, to reflect. The pandemic has only sharpened my awareness of how our relationship with time and speed has changed — or, perhaps, how we are now more acutely aware of our desire to reclaim slowness as a form of self-preservation.
Through this lens, my art becomes a space for vulnerability, sensitivity, and awareness. I am drawn to the intimate and often overlooked details of wear — ragged edges, tattered surfaces, fraying threads — which suggest a deeper narrative of personal and collective loss. These details speak to the fragility of the body, the impermanence of materials, and the emotional cost of living in a world that values speed over connection. My work asks the viewer to reconsider how small, everyday wounds — whether physical, emotional, or psychological — accumulate over time and affect our well-being.
In an age that continually pushes us to do more, be more, and produce more, I hope my art can serve as an antidote to this culture. By engaging with it slowly, thoughtfully, and vulnerably, we can perhaps begin to untangle the knots of our existence and reclaim a more meaningful way of being.