“You presume you are a small entity, but within you is enfolded the entire Universe.”

My work navigates the vast interior landscapes that dwell within each of us — where harm and healing, rupture and resilience, converge in quiet layers. I build each piece from what has been discarded — paper bags, torn cartons — the overlooked fragments of consumer life that echo the infinite yet fragile self. These humble materials, worn by time and use, mirror our inner worlds: crumpled histories, scarred memories, and resilient forms that carry galaxies within them.

By upcycling these remnants, I do not merely reuse — I reveal. I transform what was cast aside into intimate constellations of the human experience. The surface becomes a kind of skin: layered, scarred, and luminous with the traces of time. Black paint slices through like a wound and a horizon, while folds, creases, and raw edges hold space for what is unseen — the unspoken traumas and quiet acts of endurance that shape us.

This practice does not seek to tidy damage into closure or conceal it behind perfection. Instead, it asks: What if we treated our wounds as maps — evidence of the universes we carry within? Each layer of paper holds memory, not to look back in nostalgia, but to honor what persists — the parts of us that expand, endure, and rebuild.

The work lives at the intersection of personal healing and ecological consciousness. Just as the earth absorbs and renews what we discard, we too harbor infinite strength, composting and creating worlds from what we survive. In this space where material and metaphor entwine, art becomes more than object — it becomes ritual, refuge, and a remitnder: we are never small.