Scottish essayist Alexander Smith wrote, "It is our knowledge that we have to die that makes us human.”
My core values guide the way I live and create. I’m driven to seek truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I want to live authentically—without masks, aligned with who I really am. I hold justice, mercy, and empathy close, because they rise from lived experience and connection with others. And I try to practice existential courage: facing mortality and absurdity without turning away.
For me, everything starts with mortality. It’s the one truth we all share, yet most of us spend our lives trying not to think about it. My work—whether it’s photography, painting, or writing—circles back to that truth. I want to face it, learn from it, and make something honest out of it.
I believe in telling the truth of lived experience, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then. Those moments where we’d rather turn away are often the ones that shape us the most.
Creative integrity is everything to me. I have no interest in chasing trends or borrowing someone else’s voice. The work has to come from my own place in the world—my own questions, my own struggles, and my own search for meaning.
I think artists have a responsibility to remember. To hold on to the stories, the histories, and the human realities that others might prefer to forget. That means confronting the psychology of othering and refusing to let erasure win.
I’ve always valued depth over distraction. I want my work to stick with people—not just be glanced at and forgotten, but to stay with them and maybe even shift something inside.
Mortality is the one thing we all have in common. Facing it honestly can open us up—make us more compassionate, more awake, and maybe more fully human.
And then there’s courage. Not the loud kind, but the quiet willingness to walk into the places most people avoid—genocide sites, philosophical voids, the edges of my own life—and come back with something worth sharing.