My murals and art are a never-ending attempt to find this elusive thing called home.
Some people’s definition of home is a definite place and set of people with whom they have always belonged. My definition is not so easy. As a mixed-race person with a multicultural and multi-geographic upbringing, I have always felt like a stranger and sojourner on the earth… accustomed to goodbyes and repeated new beginnings— one thing always being only a precursor for something else.
Through my art, I find solace in the fact that home is not so much a geographical place, but a state of being. I find peace in my melancholy girls’ faces surrounded by lush florals, Japanese motifs, and gold leaf. They are often bloodied yet strangely defiant in their nonchalance—a nod to the inexorable fellowship of suffering that defines a person and their purpose... a thread common to all humanity regardless of their location.
With each new artwork, I feel I become closer to both the home of my comforting past, and the home of a yet-unknown shimmering city of light. When the gatekeeper finally sees me, I hope that he will tell me I have been brave.