Perfection has long stood in the way of my creative freedom.

As a child, I internalized the belief that nothing I made was ever quite good enough. My father’s praise often came with a “but”—a correction, a missed opportunity, a quiet reminder it could have been better. That mindset lingered. Even now, if I’m not fully satisfied with a piece, I question whether it’s ready to be seen. This pursuit of perfection can be paralyzing. Most pieces never make it into the world. 

The inner critic—persistent, precise, and punishing—has deeply shaped my creative process. It’s led to periods of self-doubt, depression, and paralysis. When I’m not creating, I feel unmoored. But when I am creating, I wrestle with the fear that it won’t be enough. It’s a constant tension—one that fuels my work even as it challenges it. The theme of worthiness sits at the center of my practice. I’m haunted by the idea of loss—forgotten stories, missing files, vanished moments. My work is an effort to preserve what’s fleeting, to give form to the ephemeral.

My relationship with the art world is complex. The work doesn’t fit neatly into traditional gallery programs—many only represent painters or photographers working in expected formats. More importantly, I’ve realized I’m not drawn to that path. Art left dormant in gallery back rooms—without press, placement, or presence—feels disconnected from the energy that birthed it. I need the work to be part of space, a story, and experience. Instead, I’ve taken the work directly to the people—presenting at art fairs across Chicago, California, Colorado, New York, etc. These events sparked meaningful moments, but they also fueled burnout.  The logistics were grueling and sales were inconsistent. I love sharing the work, but traditional systems just didn’t resonate with me and my journey.

Today, I seek the right collaborators. Not gatekeepers, but partners—designers who intuitively understand where the work belongs. In their showrooms. In their clients’ homes and workspaces. In environments that honor story and substance.

At its core, my work is a study in imperfection. I create to challenge the belief that something must be flawless to be valuable. In doing so, I slowly unlearn the perfectionism that once held me back. The process is both rebellion and reconciliation. It’s how I make peace with the chaos. It’s how I find meaning in the fragments. And maybe…how others will too.