SLEEPWALKING

The experience of being an immigrant and an artist is an odd one. It is a continuous act of forgetting, unmaking, and rebuilding. You leave a version of yourself behind, or you watch it grow gaunt and withered from the withdrawal. But when you have lived lives in another place and time, when you have made memories that stretch decades, forgetting feels like betrayal. Of identity, of history, of self. Unmaking feels like death. Rebuilding feels like deception. You are hollow.

I refuse.

Instead, I build altars. I memorialize emotions. I dream and sleepwalk and travel and tell stories. Photography is my catharsis, and I use it to explore themes of nostalgia, community, identity, displacement, grief, isolation, and loneliness—the (dis)quiet of the human spirit.