What started as a quiet coping mechanism to survive college, promptly forgotten during a difficult period of life, until a decade later, when I began creating my first post-college painting during a spiritual awakening. I found myself returning to that process of intuitive writing, layering it beneath the surface, sanding and writing before a brush ever touched the canvas.

After years of staring at those early works-in-progress, I was captivated by the beauty of the words themselves, mingled with the silence of primer, with the potential of paint. It finally clicked: I would continue making the MRI series, but I also needed to bring the stream-of-consciousness pieces into the world on their own.

I began sourcing wooden panels from a local woodsmith shop—choosing the ones that spoke to me. Some were wonky or imperfect. Some almost square, but not quite. Some had unique textures or grain. Others just seemed to say, “I’m yours.” And so I listened.

From there, my process became a dance: sanding, sealing, layering gesso—then sanding again and again. I fell in love with the repetition, the tactile ritual of it. I experimented with different hanging methods, with creating space between the piece and the wall to cast subtle shadows. I let myself explore. And eventually, I asked:

What if I added color? What if I added pen? And colored pencil? What else could this become?

What began as graphite on gessoed board slowly transformed into a layered collaboration between material and intuition. The pieces started guiding me. Sometimes, the names arrived during journaling. Other times, I had to ask—quietly, curiously—until the name revealed itself.

I consider myself a co-creator. My hands do the creating, writing, sanding, and shaping—but I don’t force answers. I wait. I ask. I listen.

Each decision—whether to use pen or pencil, whether to rest or continue, what color to introduce next—is led by the piece itself. I move only when the piece is ready. I believe I am the vessel, not the source. I have the great fortune to meet them before anyone else.

These works are a meditation. Healing through creation. In this work, I explore where light and darkness meet.

This is not just my healing. These pieces weren’t given to me for me alone.
They’re meant to open space—for you, too.
Space for reflection, recognition, resonance.
May they continue the work, wherever they go.