During this period of introspection, back in the room where I grew up, I found myself questioning not only my creative process but also my choice to become an artist—leaving behind comfort and security for vulnerability and expression. I began writing notes, fragments that challenged my way of seeing, like: “Identity isn’t just where we’re from, but where we’re going.”

With the support of the incredible residency team, I realized I wasn’t just creating visually striking or uncanny images—I was capturing emotional depth, personal states of mind translated into visual language. This process taught me to appreciate what I have without comparison and gave me a clearer understanding of how I’ve been working from the very beginning. These notes remain part of my practice today, reminders to stay honest, curious, and open.
Looking back now, these notes were not just passing thoughts but markers of a deeper emotional process. Writing down “Identity isn’t just where we’re from, but where we’re going” reflected my struggle to reconcile the past with my evolving artistic voice. “It’s what you don’t see” was my way of acknowledging the invisible weight of memories and how they shaped both my creative choices and personal growth.

At the time, I was searching for clarity—trying to understand whether I was creating from a place of true expression or seeking comfort in familiar forms. Years later, I see those reflections not as doubts but as moments of self-discovery, pushing me to explore vulnerability as strength.

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