Diagnosed with cancer at the age of five, I spent much of my childhood in hospital, where I often found refuge in art therapy. It became a way to process thoughts and feelings I could not yet articulate, opening a way of experiencing the world beyond the physical body, something both creative and expansive. This early experience continues to shape my relationship with art and the way I engage with the world.

For me encounters with colour and pattern offer comfort, becoming a way to slow down and reflect. By returning to these forms, my work becomes a meditation on being in the world. These forms often carry traces of memory, where observation and recollection overlap.

My work begins with intuitive drawing—an open, meditative practice grounded in repetition. Through a continual return to form, I build a visual language shaped by memory: of colour, shape, and rhythm. Repetition becomes both method and subject, a way of thinking through making.

I am interested in the balance between open and closed forms—structures that feel at once contained and permeable. These shifting boundaries echo how we perceive and process the world: seeking order within chaos, stability within flux. 

The paintings do not represent the specific but rather evoke subtle, internal states that resist fixed definition. I think of them as “democratic paintings,” meaning is not prescribed but emerges through the viewer’s perception.

I aim to explore how cognition and perception shape experience, suggesting veils or barriers that are never fully closed. These permeable forms create spaces where inside and outside, self and environment, begin to blur.

Ultimately, I ask: can shape, colour, and pattern hold emotion? Can repetition become a vessel for feeling? My work exists within this tension—between control and intuition, order and chaos—seeking a visual dissonance that is both personal and collective.