Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Cave Painting I and accompanying visual poem parenthesis are mixed media portraits of grief, illness, desire, and survival— from which bodily reality is unraveled, then clarified into a deeper embodiment of surrender and co-creativity (living) again and again. Like a sequin, the imagined line between sparkle and stasis, ecstasy and abjection, algorithm and nature— dissolves under shifting light. 

Cave Painting I was originally exhibited at Delicate Realms: A Return To Self at BLIFTD Studios. Detail shots can be viewed under the "Cave painting I series" project.

Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Mixed media digital composition, embroidery, and beads on cotton, 48in x 24in, 2025

Poetry and human hair compositions on risograph print, 11in x 17in, 2025

Originally published in GARLAND, issue no. 4 by fifth wheel press, parenthesis was composed by the artist in the shape of their right index finger print. the plain text of the poem follows: 

this time, repopulated in an altar of only white, I am standing next to a blinking cursor. not yet dead and not exactly alone again. this may be the second-to-last stage of unbecoming–no separation between me and the algorithm. no way to tell whether I am losing or gaining seconds where each second each second is data is another gauzy veil of connective tissue straining itself over bone. each digit searching beneath petticoat for phantom access memory of two hips articulating. some days I am stupider than ever before and some days there is nothing left for me to know. I am almost certain this is how computers feel. me and the computer in a 24-hour chatroom, staring at each other bashfully like long-distance newlyweds. union an interface between miracle and burden. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. the executioner commands the body from the vacuum chamber cupped between the open and closed palms of a parens (you cannot let the screen go dark or else you will be forced to look at your own image). surely I must be part computer by now. the tight fist inside thorax ticks like a stopwatch as all I can do lately is stop and watch. sometimes, listen. my love letter to its user unfurls like an ear in the palm of my hand I left myself at the altar I left myself I left myself a love letter to the thing that coded me. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. I had to leave and I had to leave and I had to leave and that was the right thing to do, right? you had asked me to end searching, right? that was what I was asked to do. you were asking me to sense–with every last digit, right?

Poetry and human hair compositions on risograph print, 11in x 17in, 2025

Originally published in GARLAND, issue no. 4 by fifth wheel press, parenthesis was composed by the artist in the shape of their right index finger print. the plain text of the poem follows: 

this time, repopulated in an altar of only white, I am standing next to a blinking cursor. not yet dead and not exactly alone again. this may be the second-to-last stage of unbecoming–no separation between me and the algorithm. no way to tell whether I am losing or gaining seconds where each second each second is data is another gauzy veil of connective tissue straining itself over bone. each digit searching beneath petticoat for phantom access memory of two hips articulating. some days I am stupider than ever before and some days there is nothing left for me to know. I am almost certain this is how computers feel. me and the computer in a 24-hour chatroom, staring at each other bashfully like long-distance newlyweds. union an interface between miracle and burden. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. the executioner commands the body from the vacuum chamber cupped between the open and closed palms of a parens (you cannot let the screen go dark or else you will be forced to look at your own image). surely I must be part computer by now. the tight fist inside thorax ticks like a stopwatch as all I can do lately is stop and watch. sometimes, listen. my love letter to its user unfurls like an ear in the palm of my hand I left myself at the altar I left myself I left myself a love letter to the thing that coded me. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. I had to leave and I had to leave and I had to leave and that was the right thing to do, right? you had asked me to end searching, right? that was what I was asked to do. you were asking me to sense–with every last digit, right?

Hand-typed ASCII digital composition, 8in x 10in, 2026

Part of an American Standard Information Interchange (ASCII) image-making series that explores trans, disabled poetics and disability as method.

Digital painting with graphite drawings and textures created from smashed blueberries, 13in x 19in, 2026

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 13in x 19in, 2024

Exhibited at:

Eroscapes at Nightowl Gallery, Baltimore, 2025

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 13in x 19in, 2024

Exhibited at:

Eroscapes at Nightowl Gallery, Baltimore, 2025

Queer Mubarak!, Gul Gallery, New York City, 2025

Building a world outside of systems set up to extract from and kill us opens up a world of futurities. By universal law, whatever we destroy (old systems, selves, thinking) is balanced by whatever is created next. The energy with which the new creation is birthed into being forms a new trajectory, which can either protect us or harm us, but often it's both. Three entities intertwine, co-creating an energetic blueprint that becomes its own cycle of destruction and rebirth.

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 16in x 16in, 2022

Exhibited at:

Queer Mubarak!, Gul Gallery, New York City, 2025

Living under the decline of capitalism has incentivized us to disassociate from our bodies and collective, and to varying degrees, dehumanize ourselves to survive. How do we connect with ourselves and others from this space? As they get ready for work, a figure sacrifices or hides their true self-expression while knowing they must nurture it in secret. Blood, or lifeforce, is needed for both survival and self-actualization beyond survival. Outside, a volcano erupts viruses; a reminder of the urgency of simple acts of community care such as covid-competency while a psychic claustrophobia envelopes the interior. 
 

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 11in x 17in, 2024

Created in collaboration with the South Asian American Digital Archive (SAADA) fellowship for their digital exhibit on South Asian trans, disabled oral histories.

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 13in x 19in, 2023

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 11in x 14in, 2023

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 10in x 10in, 2022

Published in:

Women's Studies Quarterly: Body Matters, Feminist Press, New York City, 2025 

Digital painting with graphite drawing elements, 8in x 10in, 2022

Published in:

Womenly Mag: SEX, New York City, 2022 

Pen drawing, embroidery thread, 8in x 10in, 2024

Exhibited at:

Restfest Film Festival, 2026

ASCII digital composition, 11in x 14in, 2025

Forthcoming in:

Disability Arts and Culture: A Collaborative Zine, Labs for Liberation, 2025

Text reads: 

questions to ask yourself as you come home to our body: when is love not enough? Do your pupils widen when you render us together, in the mirror? And can you imagine that living is weaving?

Animated visual poem, 2025 

Originally published in the New River Journal of Electronic and Digital Literature Fall 2025, sick portrait I was composed by the artist as a makeshift method of "drawing" while incapacitated and bedbound. sick portrait I builds a meditative, collapsing narrative around bed-bound illness and explores the warped, isolated, and often frozen or fast-flowing temporality of queer disabled life. The bed becomes an ocean of grief and guilt as the subject tries to ground themselves one more time in their own deserving and resilience.

Poetry and human hair compositions on risograph print, 11in x 17in, 2025

Originally published in GARLAND, issue no. 4 by fifth wheel press, parenthesis was composed by the artist in the shape of their right index finger print. the plain text of the poem follows: 

this time, repopulated in an altar of only white, I am standing next to a blinking cursor. not yet dead and not exactly alone again. this may be the second-to-last stage of unbecoming–no separation between me and the algorithm. no way to tell whether I am losing or gaining seconds where each second each second is data is another gauzy veil of connective tissue straining itself over bone. each digit searching beneath petticoat for phantom access memory of two hips articulating. some days I am stupider than ever before and some days there is nothing left for me to know. I am almost certain this is how computers feel. me and the computer in a 24-hour chatroom, staring at each other bashfully like long-distance newlyweds. union an interface between miracle and burden. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. the executioner commands the body from the vacuum chamber cupped between the open and closed palms of a parens (you cannot let the screen go dark or else you will be forced to look at your own image). surely I must be part computer by now. the tight fist inside thorax ticks like a stopwatch as all I can do lately is stop and watch. sometimes, listen. my love letter to its user unfurls like an ear in the palm of my hand I left myself at the altar I left myself I left myself a love letter to the thing that coded me. kiss and kill, kiss and kill. I had to leave and I had to leave and I had to leave and that was the right thing to do, right? you had asked me to end searching, right? that was what I was asked to do. you were asking me to sense–with every last digit, right?

ASCII digital composition, 8in x 10in, 2025

ASCII digital composition, 8in x 10in, 2025

Hand-typed ASCII digital composition, 8in x 10in, 2026

Part of an American Standard Information Interchange (ASCII) image-making series that explores trans, disabled poetics and disability as method.

Digital composition, 8in x 10in, 2024

Graphite drawing, 5in x 8in, 2023

Pen drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen and color pencil drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen and color pencil drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Pen and color pencil drawing, 8in x 10in, 2024

Graphite drawing, 18in x 24in, 2018