Some things don’t need to be said.
They need to be carried.
Acknowledged. Allowed to exist without being solved.

I learned that from artists who never raised their voice.
One of them, I never met.
But I studied his silence like scripture.
And through that, I understood:
You don’t need noise to leave something behind.
You just need to mean it.
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Some traces outlive their makers.
Not because they asked for attention -
but because they left behind something honest enough
to plant a spark in someone else.
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My work rarely starts with a concept.
Most of the time, it begins with something unresolved.
A feeling that lingers.
A weight I can’t name.
A memory I haven’t fully faced - but want to.
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I’m not trying to make it beautiful.
But I do want it to hold.
To hold what’s real - even if it’s cracked, even if it’s quiet.
And maybe, if it’s honest enough,
someone else might feel a little less alone inside it - and maybe walk away with a spark they didn’t know they were looking for.
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I build scenes like internal rooms.
Spaces between emotion and abstraction.
They’re not answers. Sometimes they’re questions.
Not statements. Sometimes hints.
They’re places.
Structures for things I don’t want to carry alone.
Places of remembrance I can return to
when everything else gets too loud.
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Most of the process happens before anything visual exists.
It’s slow, personal, and often silent.
But when something finally takes form,
I leave it out there - not to be clapped at
(it’s strange to hear applause for something that came from a wound)
but because someone I’ll never meet might recognize a part of themselves in it.
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And if that happens - even just once - then that’s reason enough for it to exist.