Visual Arts
MY EXPRESSIONS
I see layers inside every story—like echoes folding into
each other. One path never stands alone; it branches, splits, becomes a
thousand unnamed roads. There are always hands reaching, eyes watching, silent
gestures asking to be remembered. Each day feels like a small lifetime. Each
night, that life returns to me—not in words, but in images, shapes, fragments.
I don’t just remember—I relive, through marks I leave behind. Everything moves.
Even stillness hums. Moments stretch, collapse, reappear—too fast for the eye,
too honest to fake. I chase that motion. It never slows for me. But we’re wired
to chase what we’ll never quite catch. That’s the pulse behind what I make.
About All The Experiences I Have Created
I’ve lived many lives within this one. Not just as an
artist—but as a woman shaped, broken, rebuilt, and constantly shifting. Each
phase etched itself into me, and from that, something deeper began to move
through my hands. It’s women I return to—again and again. I see them. They see
me. That silent understanding, that mutual recognition, feeds my work. Faces
speak louder than words. A glance, a wrinkle, the way someone holds still—these
become stories. I read them. I feel their weight. I understand both the light
and the reasons behind the shadows. That’s where my art begins. Expression
follows me. It doesn’t let me rest. It’s not inspiration—it’s possession. I
work with whatever material carries the feeling best—paint, wire, worn fabric,
metal scraps. Recycled things. Forgotten things. My work shifts between the
real and the symbolic. Some pieces look back at you. Others ask you to look
inward. Not everything I make can live on a screen. Some of it isn’t meant to.
I create because I have to. Sharing is just a small part of that.
INSPIRED BY NATURE
I feel a profound, unspoken connection between the tender heart of a woman and the ever-changing beauty of nature. There’s something inherently feminine in the quiet stillness of winter, where everything rests beneath a soft, snowy blanket, waiting to awaken. The stormy monsoon, with its wild, untamed energy, feels like a reflection of the emotional depths women often carry within, powerful yet nourishing. The crisp autumn breeze, as it dances through the air, whispering promises of change, reminds me of the delicate transitions in life—moments of letting go, just like the trees shedding their vibrant scarlet and russet leaves in surrender to the season. And then, of course, the warmth of summer, embracing everything with its golden light, carrying the very essence of life and vitality, all of it wrapped in the fragrance of spring blossoms, as if nature itself is in constant renewal, like a woman’s inner strength and grace. When I witness this endless cycle—the shedding of leaves in autumn only to see delicate green buds return, breathing new life into the world—it stirs something deep inside me. It is like watching a mother cradling her newborn, finally holding what she had longed for after the excruciating yet beautiful journey of labor. There is a profound tenderness in that moment, a raw, aching beauty that I find echoed in every corner of nature. I can’t resist this feeling, nor do I wish to. It calls to me, beckoning me to pour these emotions onto my canvas, where each brushstroke becomes a reflection of that connection between the feminine soul and the natural world. It’s as if every time I paint, I am honoring this bond, letting my heart flow freely into the colors and forms, as nature and the essence of womanhood dance together in harmony.
CONCEPTUAL CONTEMPORARY
I am so deeply passionate about my work that I can’t imagine a single day without it. The urge to create pulls me away from reality, yet the stories I tell through my sketches are rooted in everyday life. When I paint, I use my hands and body, feeling a profound connection with the canvas. It allows me to pour my soul into each piece. My soul aches, struggles, and yearns until I feel the work is complete. Sometimes, a painting comes together in an instant; other times, it takes days or even months. But I have to give everything to the canvas—without that, the work is never truly finished. I call my paintings Conceptual Contemporary. Each one reflects fragments of our lives, yet I deliberately avoid giving them a polished, flawless look. Life, after all, is not fine and finished.
