My work is an honest reckoning with movement, memory, and change—a practice of grounding myself in the in-between moments of life. Whether sketching on my lunch breaks, drawing from my rooftop at night, or working large-scale in my shared apartment studio, I seek to capture the ephemeral: the fleeting pulse of a place, the convergence of past and present, and the tension between control and chaos.
Since moving to Brooklyn in 2021, my sketchbook has been my lifeline. My drawings often begin in transit—on the subway, in the park, along the streets I walk daily. I return to familiar vantage points, tracing the shifting patterns of trees, street intersections, or the folds of my bedsheets in morning light. These recurring motifs serve as anchors in an ever-changing world, much like my childhood habit of sketching from the backseat of my mother’s car, trying to hold a landscape rushing past. This urgency carries into my current practice, where I work to distill motion into line, layering gestural marks to create images that vibrate with movement rather than depict static forms.
Working under unconventional conditions—whether drawing in the dark on my rooftop or bracing against the wind to keep a piece from flying away—introduces an element of unpredictability. This struggle with the elements mirrors my fascination with intersections, places where lives merge and diverge. My rooftop drawings are less about the skyline and more about the streets below: the choreography of pedestrians crossing paths, the rhythm of cars halting and accelerating, the wind shaping the trees. Rather than fixating on precise details, I am drawn to the fluidity of these moments, their impermanence. My goal is to create a sense of movement—of whiplash—that leaves viewers both enthralled and overwhelmed, an antithesis to apathy and detachment.
I am drawn to the philosophy that “God is Change,” as Octavia Butler writes, and, like the Impressionists, I embrace the idea that nothing is fixed—interpretation is always in flux. My process is a dialogue between intention and spontaneity. I do not search for a definitive end but allow each piece to unfold, to breathe, to mutate. In this way, my work becomes a meditation on presence—on noticing, questioning, and navigating the shifting landscapes of both the external world and my own evolving sense of self.
