The physical world wasn’t made for us. It’s designed at the expense of queer Black folx and our pleasure—every street, every room, every rule bent toward someone else’s comfort, someone else’s gaze. Without critical intervention, the same oppressive designs will creep into emerging digital and physical landscapes, replicating the violence we already know too well. My work is the refusal of that inevitability.
I create spaces—ethnographic, photographic, physical, digital—that bring the fullness of our bodies and our pleasure into view. Spaces where sensation, memory, and history collide. I lean into abstraction because reality can be a trap, a lie told too often. By using materials that dredge up histories coded into the fibers of our lives, I ask viewers to go beyond what they see and into what they feel. These gestures question the places where those histories happened and the performances—intimate, unseen—that shaped them. They demand we assign value to what’s hidden, to what we can’t fully know but still carry with us.
For me, it’s all about dismantling boundaries—the ones between art and activism, between desire and survival. My work spirals out from encounters that are tender, charged, and deeply human. These moments aren’t just creative collaborations—they’re acts of kinship. The people I work with become family—my queer kin. Together, we leave behind more than just artifacts. We leave queer home movies, ruins, portals, heirlooms. We tell stories no one wrote down, and we build the worlds we want to live in, the ones where rest, pleasure, and belonging are more than an afterthought—they’re the foundation.
