I have done painting. I have done fashion. Creating for as long as I can remember. Building tiny worlds with my hands.
But it’s clay that stole my heart.
It doesn’t care about perfection -just presence. It cracks, it breaks, it melts and transform. It’s messy. I glaze something and cross my fingers. Sometimes its shit, sometimes it’s gold.
Thats the deal.

Clay is humble yet demanding. Honest. I love that.
My work lives in that in-between.

I am drawn by everything I feel in my gut. Everything that makes my heart beat faster.
Longings that drive me to explore and express things I sense but can’t name.
So I sculpt.
Mostly, I love the bodily presence it demands, that quiets the mind and lets the hands see.
It’s a way of unfolding and communicating what is there but not yet known.