At 18, a meth addiction nearly ended my life.

Getting sober began a lifelong inquiry into perception, suffering, identity, and what it means to wake up to ourselves. I picked up a camera and turned my pain into visual poetry. It saved my life.

What began as survival became a deeper curiosity: why do we see ourselves, one another, and the world the way we do? And what becomes possible when that perception shifts? My work is rooted in the belief that much of human suffering lives inside the stories, identities, and assumptions we mistake for reality.

For more than three decades, I've explored the hidden architectures that shape how we experience ourselves, one another, and the world. Through photography, mixed media, writing, and installation, I work with identity, intimacy, belonging, addiction, grief, and transformation - drawn to the space in-between the words.

Today, 38 years sober, my work has been exhibited internationally in Paris, Milan, London, New York, and Los Angeles.

I am also the single (co-parenting) mother of my son, Max, who has Down syndrome and has taught me more than anyone about presence, connection, and what it means to be human.

At the heart of my work is a simple question:

What unseen architectures shape human experience beneath the surface and in-between the words, and how might seeing them more clearly create space for greater love, connection, and freedom?