From a young age, I developed a profound respect for books and the written word. My grandparents ran a scrap paper business in Chicago, and I spent countless hours on the office floor, immersed in drawing. Among the shredded paper and books destined for recycling, one client stood out: World Book Publications. They would send outdated encyclopedias to the warehouse with each page slashed vertically to prevent resale. But my grandmother, ever resourceful, carefully taped the pages back together and gifted the books to my cousins and me, igniting a lifelong love of research.

As a graphic designer, I honed the art of communicating efficiently. However, my perspective shifted dramatically when my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor and lost her ability to speak. This deeply personal experience spurred my fascination with the origins of language. I pivoted in my career and was accepted to an MFA program, exploring creative practices that resonated deeply with me: text, book arts, printmaking, and photography. My work began to focus on controlling how much information could be retained or transformed when elements were rearranged, altered, or even removed. I continue my deep attachment to the versatility and plasticity of different kinds of paper, which I cut, burn, crinkle, and reassemble. I began to push the fragmentation of the work by showing it without underlying supports or frames.

A trip to Spain inspired a new dimension in my practice, introducing patterns derived from Moorish architecture and tilework. I began hand-cutting these intricate shapes from newspaper front pages—a process of destruction that paradoxically emphasized the content that remained. The visual and conceptual significance of these cutworks lies in their delicate, lattice-like structures, reminiscent of mashrabiyas—ornamental screens that provide privacy, shield against the sun’s heat, and allow light and air to pass through. Similarly, my work seeks to illuminate and challenge fixed ideas and beliefs, letting light penetrate the opacity of preconceived notions.

Loss is a recurring theme in my art—whether it’s the literal removal of text and imagery, the erosion of cultural understanding, the decline of print traditions, or the impulse to memorialize significant events. My subtractive/additive processes highlight not only censorship but also the challenge of achieving a nuanced understanding in an era of rapid-fire news cycles. In this way my art represents an archive of history and social justice concerns with the intention of raising awareness through works that are created with thoughtfulness and care.