Why

I turn to creation in periods of constraint, when every option feels like a variation of worse. When I am pressured to stay silent, submissive, and complicit. When I feel like I have nothing left to try.

I, like many, have been told that because something is normalized, it is normal. Cries for help often go unheard—muted by inconvenience, indifference, or denial.

I have been creative my whole life, but after an all-too-normal night of being shut down at every turn, something in me broke open. I felt voiceless in the pursuit of even menial temporary protection—not even for myself. When I got home, I just started painting until the canvas and I were nearly indistinguishable. I completely let go in favour of just feeling.

Now I aim to extend rather than shrink; I try to express myself as viscerally as possible because the quiet only benefits those who command silence.

If my voice is taken, a picture is worth a thousand words, right? If they won't listen, maybe they'll look.

How

Once I have created something, I often struggle to fully explain it. I begin with a feeling or loose idea and allow it to develop through the process. I let intrusive thoughts take shape rather than silence them. Creating in any form becomes both communication and catharsis.

Each piece is as much about the piece as it is about my place in it. I am constantly learning how little I know, and this applies to myself as well. I try to accept that I don't fully know what I am creating, nor how. There will always be more to me that I don't understand than I do.

When I step back to translate, I can explain my understanding, but I've long said it feels like communicating with a pen pal.

Escapism and introspection become one and the same.