My conceptual work is an extension of my heart, exploring the relationship between self-discovery and trauma. I do this the only way I know how- by poking fun at it and dusting some glitter on it.

From an early age, I began writing to answer questions I couldn't ask. What happens when we die? When was the first time you fell in love, and how hard did it hurt to fall out of it? How old were you the first time you fantasized about a world without you in it? The answers connected me with others who felt the same frustrating pain of loneliness.

I became a grief collector, the on-call empath, and I found that having these conversations lessened the shame that others had, knowing that what they were feeling, they were not feeling alone.

I try to visualize perceptions of pain in an easy-to-digest way. I find strength in letting a piece of myself leave and exist as a tangible object outside my head. I find it deeply satisfying to finish a project, pin it down on paper like a butterfly, to examine it and externalize.

That desire to art-direct your own sobbing self-portrait works as fuel for conversations about those times when it was hard to stay positive, stay healthy, or even stay alive. I strive to illustrate a pain that all humans have experienced on some level and turn that pain into something visual, something bearable, something— shared.