Colours are my language; textures, my punctuation. I don’t paint surfaces—I build landscapes of memory and possibility. Fabric frays into silence, rust speaks of time, paper bends into whispers. Each material insists on its own story, and together they argue, reconcile, and find harmony.

I never begin with certainty. I begin with fragments. A crease, a tear, a stain. What emerges is less a picture, more a dialogue—a reminder that nothing in life is ever singular or smooth.

Isn’t living also about layers? About what resurfaces after being buried, about what insists on being remembered? In my work, accidents become intention, absence becomes form, and the overlooked becomes luminous.

For me, abstraction is not escape—it is invitation. An unfinished sentence, a question without answer. Not to tell you what to see, but to make you pause, look longer, and perhaps, see yourself.