Red Shoes
The red shoes for me, a polished surface made for the world, while the tender self quietly diminishes within.
It asks how the act of “fitting in” might become the most revealing gesture of all, a silent confession woven into the fabric of appearance.
My Footprints Below, 2025, Oil on wooden panel, 8×10 in
Nausea, 2025, Oil on wooden panel, 24×18 in
A stone is held, a body bends to vomit.
The weight of sheer existence presses down, stripped of meaning, bare, indifferent.
Do you simply exist, or were you intended?
Shy Mirror
2025
Oil and cyanotype on wooden panel
10 × 8 in
Girls
2025
Oil on wooden panel
10×10 in