I approach art like an excavation — with curiosity, discomfort, and a hint of rebellion. My practice is all about research and process. I’m drawn to what’s hidden beneath the surface, manipulating materials and combining the old with the new. Sometimes I have a clear direction, but other times I’m guided by the sheer temptation to break the rules. It’s not about making something that fits neatly on a living room wall. I want people to look at my work and feel a little unsure, maybe even unsettled, and ask, “What’s going on here?” and “Why am I feeling this?”

In my work, I’m obsessed with the layers of trauma and inheritance passed down through generations — especially from a female perspective. How much of who we are is written into our DNA from the start? What’s absorbed from the lives of those before us, and from our own experiences? Do we really know ourselves? Can we change, or are we content as we are? My work asks these questions through material exploration. There’s always a story beneath the surface — patterns repeat, layers accumulate, some things are buried, others exposed.

I’m inspired by artists like Doris Salcedo, Mona Hatoum, Wangechi Mutu, and Ailbhe Ní Bhriain, who peel back layers to reveal raw, often messy truths. Their work isn’t obvious, and neither is mine. If my art makes you uneasy, I’ve done my job. If it doesn’t, take another look.