During COVID lockdown, my work became physically smaller as my world shrank. I stayed indoors and worked at a reduced scale, creating small, contained drawings that formed tiny worlds and mirrored how confined daily life felt. Many of these works depict familiar scenes in and around my neighborhood, including grocery stores, bedrooms, home offices, and local public spaces shaped by isolation.

I often incorporated literal images and shapes of the virus into the drawings. These forms repeat throughout the work to reflect COVID’s constant presence, never fully visible but always there, shaping thought, behavior, and fear.

While much of the work focuses on quiet, everyday moments, there are also dramatic breaks in that stillness. Pieces responding to events like January 6th interrupt the domestic scenes and pull large collective trauma into intimate spaces. The small scale intensifies these moments, making them feel close and unavoidable.

I found comfort in working with markers, the same accessible medium I used as a child, doodling in school. Returning to this familiar material became a way to self soothe and stay present while documenting uncertainty.

The work also acknowledges unequal experiences of the pandemic. Some drawings reflect working from home, while others center people who did not have that option, those who continued to work in grocery stores and service jobs, risking their lives to support others. Other pieces simply track time passing, with seasons changing and rises and falls of COVID unfolding alongside nature, routines, and everyday life.

Together, these drawings form small, contained worlds that document how crisis, labor, care, and resistance coexisted in everyday life.

During COVID lockdown, my work became physically smaller as my world shrank. I stayed indoors and worked at a reduced scale, creating small, contained drawings that formed tiny worlds and mirrored how confined daily life felt. Many of these works depict familiar scenes in and around my neighborhood, including grocery stores, bedrooms, home offices, and local public spaces shaped by isolation.

I often incorporated literal images and shapes of the virus into the drawings. These forms repeat throughout the work to reflect COVID’s constant presence, never fully visible but always there, shaping thought, behavior, and fear.

While much of the work focuses on quiet, everyday moments, there are also dramatic breaks in that stillness. Pieces responding to events like January 6th interrupt the domestic scenes and pull large collective trauma into intimate spaces. The small scale intensifies these moments, making them feel close and unavoidable.

I found comfort in working with markers, the same accessible medium I used as a child, doodling in school. Returning to this familiar material became a way to self soothe and stay present while documenting uncertainty.

The work also acknowledges unequal experiences of the pandemic. Some drawings reflect working from home, while others center people who did not have that option, those who continued to work in grocery stores and service jobs, risking their lives to support others. Other pieces simply track time passing, with seasons changing and rises and falls of COVID unfolding alongside nature, routines, and everyday life.

Together, these drawings form small, contained worlds that document how crisis, labor, care, and resistance coexisted in everyday life.

During COVID lockdown, my work became physically smaller as my world shrank. I stayed indoors and worked at a reduced scale, creating small, contained drawings that formed tiny worlds and mirrored how confined daily life felt. Many of these works depict familiar scenes in and around my neighborhood, including grocery stores, bedrooms, home offices, and local public spaces shaped by isolation.

I often incorporated literal images and shapes of the virus into the drawings. These forms repeat throughout the work to reflect COVID’s constant presence, never fully visible but always there, shaping thought, behavior, and fear.

While much of the work focuses on quiet, everyday moments, there are also dramatic breaks in that stillness. Pieces responding to events like January 6th interrupt the domestic scenes and pull large collective trauma into intimate spaces. The small scale intensifies these moments, making them feel close and unavoidable.

I found comfort in working with markers, the same accessible medium I used as a child, doodling in school. Returning to this familiar material became a way to self soothe and stay present while documenting uncertainty.

The work also acknowledges unequal experiences of the pandemic. Some drawings reflect working from home, while others center people who did not have that option, those who continued to work in grocery stores and service jobs, risking their lives to support others. Other pieces simply track time passing, with seasons changing and rises and falls of COVID unfolding alongside nature, routines, and everyday life.

Together, these drawings form small, contained worlds that document how crisis, labor, care, and resistance coexisted in everyday life.

"Musical Chairs" examines access, power, and the cost of visibility within systems that promise inclusion without providing support. Across the project, the red chair functions as a stand in for leadership, invitation, and expectation, marked by wear, instability, and pressure.

In "A Seat at the Table", a long formal table dominates the space, surrounded by empty chairs. At the edge sits a broken red chair. Its damaged condition matters. The seat is offered, but it is not equal, stable, or secure. The work questions what it means to be invited into spaces of power only to be given something already compromised, and who is expected to accept that condition without complaint.

"Black Leadership Drowning" places the red chair submerged in a pool. The water represents sustained pressure and exhaustion rather than a single moment of collapse. The chair remains visible but unsupported, reflecting how Black leadership is often expected to carry institutional weight while staying composed and present. Within this reality, mistakes are not treated as learning or growth. Failure can mean sudden removal, reputational harm, and the quiet end of a career.

Together, these works reflect lived experiences of conditional inclusion. "Musical Chairs" asks who is allowed to sit, under what conditions, and at what cost, as the rules shift and the burden remains uneven. The project focuses on quiet, ongoing strain rather than spectacle, revealing the labor required to remain present within systems that were never designed to support everyone equally.