I lost my two best friends (my grandma and grandpa) within ten months of each other. Their sudden absence left my mind overflowing with memories, questions, and longing. In grieving them, I’ve been trying to understand not only who they were, but also what they meant to the people around them. Their loss sparked a deeper reflection on my own identity: who I am, where I come from, and why I’ve become the person I am today. I find myself reaching backward, holding their stories and spirits close, as if they might help illuminate my own. Memory has become both a comfort and a burden, something I’m desperate not to lose. Moving forward feels like walking a tightrope between holding on and letting go. My work exists in that space of tension, where grief and memory live side by side.
As I grow older, I keep turning to the past to help decode my present. I search for the lessons, the fragments of truth passed down through generations, even those obscured by time. I feel the distance between myself and my ancestors, and yet their presence feels urgent and close. My art becomes a way to bridge that gap, to listen, interpret, and respond. In making, I am not just constructing objects; I am reconstructing memory, piecing together a lineage of feeling. There’s a quiet resistance to honoring what might otherwise be forgotten. These gestures are small, but they carry the weight of a legacy. I create in pursuit of connection, clarity, and understanding. I use the body to express change and reconstruction, a vessel of those who came before
This period in my life has brought immense change, not only through loss but through transition. I’ve left home, entered adulthood, and found myself constantly reshaped by experience. People often ask about identity, but to me it’s like the clay I work with: raw, shifting, constantly evolving. My sense of self is formed through pressure, dried by time, cracked, repaired, glazed, and fired again. I’m learning to accept that I am both the maker and the material, subject to forces within and beyond my control. My work reflects this ongoing transformation, rooted in memory yet reaching toward what lies ahead. It’s a process of making meaning from both grief and growth.
