I’ve spent a lot of time in my head.
Whether it’s stress, overthinking, or lying awake at night with anxiety, I’ve gotten used to examining my mind and seeing everything inside it. Anger built up from small moments. Sadness layered over minor annoyances. But even if the causes are small, it all hits at once. And when it does, I get lost in the details as it floods in.

That’s what my work represents.
I aim to express the feeling of being stuck in your mind, where emotions, thoughts, and the weight of past experiences tangle together into something too dense to untangle. They don’t arrive one at a time. They blur into a mass that’s hard to confront—and even harder to understand without going numb in the process.

Each line I draw is an experience, a thought, or a memory pulled from the dark. But these pieces aren’t meant to be hopeless. While many of them reflect deeply personal emotions, they aren’t about giving in—they’re about dissecting, understanding, and ultimately, growing.

As I get older—facing new responsibilities, stress, and sometimes destructive ways to cope—my drawings become both a mirror and a lifeline. Even when they seem pointless or chaotic, they are my answer to my constantly questioning mind. They are also something I give back: a map for anyone else overwhelmed by their own inner chaos.