My painting practice embraces the unknown and the tension between what is lost, what remains, and what has yet to be discovered.

My journey into visual art began shortly before the loss of my dad. It was too immense, too dense and too personal for words. Drawing became the only thing capable of holding it. Now, years later, I work in watercolor, through which I channel my subconscious and connect with my ancestors and my dad. Every piece carries a bond that survives physical absence. Every piece created from a well of profound emotion.

Water holds energy, emotion and memory, making it an ideal medium for exploring how we are continually shaped by experience while still holding an enduring core. Joy, loss and the passage of time change the way we understand ourselves. Parts of who we are, of those we have lost, and of those who came before us can seem to fade away. Yet what feels lost is rarely gone entirely. It remains beneath the surface, waiting to be recognized in new ways. Waiting to emerge. To be remembered, perhaps for the first time.

I begin each painting by saying to myself: remain open. Allow me to connect., then let the movement of water guide the process. Rather than imposing a predetermined image, I respond intuitively to the forms that appear, working in dialogue with the material. For me, the process is the art. This balance between intention and chance mirrors how I understand loss and identity: not as something fixed, but as something continually revealed, reshaped and rebuilt over time.

My work honors the space of uncertainty that exists after we shed versions of ourselves, but before we know what we are becoming. Flowing, receiving, letting go, creating, evolving.

Moment to moment to moment.