I create because something in me withers when I don't. Creating isn't optional for me; it is survival.

I have lived with suicidal ideation for much of my life and have found genuine peace in the act of making. My hands have always been busy—crocheting baby blankets for friends and family, crafting with my children, and doodling whenever I can. Making is how I remain present. Every stitch is a quiet decision to keep living.

Creating is, for me, an act of survival. My work is inseparable from my lived experience. I know what it is to struggle, to question whether I can keep going, and to choose life anyway. Fiber art gives those experiences somewhere to exist outside of me. It transforms pain into something tangible—something that can be held, witnessed, and shared.

I came to fiber art through years of crocheting and a season of exploration with embroidery, appliqué, felt, and beading before discovering punch needle. It was there that I found the artistic language I had been searching for. When I work with yarn and fabric, the world slows down. Fiber demands patience. Every portrait is built one loop at a time over weeks or months, inviting me into a slower way of seeing.

My work centers on the dignity, beauty, and humanity of my community. Many of my portraits depict people I know and love, but my hope is broader. I create portraits to honor the people and stories that have shaped me. My work is both a reflection and a window. A reflection for those who recognize something of themselves in it. A window for those invited into a perspective that is not their own. I can only tell the stories I know, but I hope they create space for connection.

Through fiber portraiture, I invite people to slow down and truly see. Each portrait is an act of care, witness, and honor—a quiet insistence that every life deserves to be regarded with dignity, attention, and love.