From a young age, I knew I was meant to be a storyteller.  Telling stories and creating art was my way of coping with life's challenges, forging bonds, and expanding my world.  That same spark continues to burn brilliantly in my soul as I collaborate with others to craft stories that make people feel a little less alone. 

Every cut and pen stroke I make is motivated by one desire: to help others see the world a little differently.  Perhaps that's because, as a queer and neurodivergent woman, my perspective has always been considered an "outsider" one. Or maybe it's that, as an artist, I've always questioned why maintaining the status quo is the most important thing to a lot of people. Regardless of the reason (it's probably a bit of both), my work tends to combine traditional formal techniques with experimental flourishes, and my subject matter often touches on themes of horror and resilience.

I believe the ultimate responsibility of wielding the kino-eye, the stylus, the editor's intuition, is to bring people together.  Creation, after all, is an inherently communal act.  And with the rise of fascism and generative AI, that commitment to humanness is more critical than ever before.