For much of my life, I’ve tried to define growth—analyzed it from every possible angle, searching for a shortcut to bypass the necessary introspection. I wanted an easy answer, a way around the discomfort—but little did I realize the all the pain I was feeling, and then processing, was a means forward.

This past year, I have changed more than ever before, evolving into someone I wouldn't have recognized a year ago. Some moments still feel surreal.

Growth is painful. Introspection almost guarantees a descent into uncertainty, a spiral into the unknown. Understanding myself remains a challenge. Growth is difficult because it isn’t linear; it is scattered, chaotic, unpredictable. The end result isn’t visible until you’re looking back, with tears in your eyes, and you finally can whisper the words, I’m alright.

But that, to me, is the beauty of growth—the moment you can acknowledge that you’ve changed and have changed the better. It’s impossible to see in the moment, how pain is nurturing you, how vital it is for transformation.

This project is dedicated my growing pains and my grown pains. To my first heartbreak and to my first relationship with a woman. To my queerness. To labels. To my endless disorientation with gender. To my home both far and near. To lost love. And most of all, to my heart.

I hold these experiences with tenderness, sifting through the overwhelming tide of consciousness that is my existence. And in doing so, I begin to glimpse at the fleeting moments of euphoria—the laughter, the warmth, and light. The sorrow still lingers, but now it sits on the horizon, no longer consuming me.

Through my art, I have captured this specific evolution, forcing me to reach within and extract these missing pieces of my soul. My art is a constant stream of consciousness, a tangible reflection of my growth—an uninterrupted odyssey to me. 

Still muddled within my own exploration, I hope that my art does more than express the struggles of growing into yourself, but the profound liberation that comes with them.