I create. I do this as a result of my relentless need for perspective. I worship the power of imagination because it gives us the facility to creatively interpret and define life on our own terms. In a culture that punishes deviation, I create work that positions authentic self-definition as birthright, revolt and sacred duty.

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Having to navigate othering, early sudden loss and the disillusionment of both, I experimented with using both music and religious practice as frameworks for truth-seeking, consolation and transcendence. In this way my work began during my childhood. These early experiments prompted a lifelong intrigue with three questions in particular: how do we come to authentic selfhood, how do we transform pain, and how do we define the stories of our lives in ways that are meaningful?

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Where pain, identity, and meaning are contested, my work is created to protect the unlit room. Not because it's beautiful. But because it's real. My practice exposes what polite culture suppresses - despair, crisis, identity, spiritual longing — and asks: what becomes possible if we stop pathologizing pain?

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It is a body of work shaped by confrontation, by devotion, and by refusal: refusal to conform to the scripts of society, refusal to exile what's difficult from what's divine, refusal to let comfort dictate what parts of us get to survive. I am a keeper of the holy in the hard, translating human pain into myth, music, and meaning.

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While art has not offered me escape from suffering, it has over and over again, helped me to courageously commune with it - name it, wrestle with it, and dance inside it, until it yields its medicine.

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When I speak of the difficult, I do so as someone who has met those spirits in the wild. It is why I create: to reveal what is otherwise kept beneath the skin of the world.