Growing up, I often saw my forgetfulness and distractibility as personal flaws. After facing frequent criticism, I learned to suppress parts of myself and try to fit into what was expected. Discovering my neurodivergence a few years ago shifted my perspective, sparking a compassionate journey toward self-understanding and reclaiming my identity. Painting offers a calm contrast to my restless, nonlinear mind.

 

When I paint, everything slows down, and I enter a space that feels both dreamlike and deeply connected to my emotional history. My work blends vibrant colors with abstract landscapes, gestural marks, and patterns that emerge naturally. I work with acrylics, oils, spray paint, oil bars, ink, and paint pens. Each piece usually begins with spontaneous energy but gradually moves into a more reflective, deliberate process.

 

This balance between instinct and intention allows the work to develop organically. Layers of paint reveal memories, emotions, and fragments of identity. Painting becomes both an exploration and a meditation—a visual language that expresses my inner world and invites viewers to engage with it. I’m fascinated by how color can evoke emotion and memory, bridging the space between conscious thought and what lies beneath.

 

Though suggestive of flora and fauna, my paintings don’t tell fixed stories; instead, they offer open invitations to explore memory, resilience, imagination, and the fluid nature of self. Coming from a neurodivergent perspective, I try to contribute to conversations about how we interpret and process things—especially by challenging what we usually consider “clear” or “coherent.” In a world that often values tidiness and easily digestible messages, I tend to lean into the messier parts. I see value in complexity and fragmentation, and I think there’s something powerful in that—it can open up new ways for people to connect and understand one another.