Drawings

Truth in Linework

These aren’t just drawings. They’re confessions dressed in graphite and paper.

Every line is a negotiation between my conscious choices and the truths my subconscious can’t stop whispering. What emerges isn’t just composition—it’s confrontation. These pieces unravel complexity through texture, realism, and symbol, not to simplify, but to expose what we keep trying to make tidy.

You’ll see puzzles that never quite fit. Threads that tangle more than they resolve. Faces that remember things you’ve tried to forget.

This work doesn’t aim for perfection—it aims for precision. Emotional precision. Psychological precision. It’s realism sharpened by surrealism, designed to make you feel the weight of what isn’t said out loud.

Themes like time, identity, mental illness, and memory surface again and again—not because I planned it, but because they don’t leave me alone. And I don’t think they’ve left you alone either.

The Drawings

A Mirror You Can’t Pretty-Up

These aren’t just drawings. They’re confessions wrapped in graphite. Visual spells. Bone-deep meditations in texture and shadow.

Each piece starts as a whisper—an instinct, an itch—and becomes something far less polite. I work in graphite, colored pencil, and charcoal, layering each stroke with enough emotional weight to knock the wind out of you if you let it. This isn’t aesthetic for aesthetic’s sake. This is a reckoning between what I know consciously and what my subconscious demands I finally look at.

This Is Not Decorative. It’s Ritual.

The process is deliberately slow. I sit with discomfort. I talk to it. I wait for it to respond. What begins as a simple form ends up becoming layered narrative—formed not just in shadow and light, but in contradiction. Grief sits next to wonder. Rage walks hand-in-hand with tenderness. My hands don’t just draw—they unearth.

Sometimes the light is the lie. Sometimes the shadow tells the truth.

Symbolism That Cuts

Nothing in these drawings is random. Puzzles, thread, stone, weather, vessels—each symbol carries the weight of metaphor. The portrait of an old woman surrounded by puzzle pieces? That’s memory fracturing, identity scattering. The pile of yarn? That’s not craft—it’s cognitive dissonance, neatly stacked and never actually resolved.

There are hands cradling lost civilizations. Draped figures hiding from themselves. A flooded cemetery painted in red—where even the dead aren’t safe from our projections. Every image asks a question you probably already feel in your gut.

This Work Demands Something Back

I don’t want viewers. I want witnesses. I want the moment when your breath catches, and you realize the piece isn’t about me anymore—it’s about you.

These aren’t scenes to be admired. They’re mirrors. They’re portals. They’re the moment your inner world realizes it’s been seen.

Engage. Reflect. Stay longer than is comfortable. That discomfort? That’s where the meaning lives.

This is art as initiation. Come as you are—but know you won’t leave untouched.