About the Artist

“Are they me?” I ask as I collide with strangers. Are the torn pieces of me hidden in slivers of everyone else? Will I define my soul if I trap onto canvas and imprison within strokes of the brush, stolen glimpses of you?

Do we prefer the steadfast, lacquered finish to the raw and fleeting image that exposes with singular eloquence our brevity? I strain to coalesce pieces of others’ humanity shoved through linen and oil desperate to acknowledge them and me.

Others’ eyes have become my home, and they stare back at me, refracting my missing pieces like a mirrored prism. My frozen view of you who are in my path reflects how much your scars remind me of my own. Encircled by your articulate features, my artist’s soul is reborn in the crossfire. 

When you’ve been raised to be a mindless, voiceless afterthought to someone else’s ideas, you have two choices: assimilate or dislodge. To reform and blunt cut the edges of my broken identity is brutal but necessary work. It’s my work in art and life.