Home is not a place
Home is not a place.
It lives somewhere between the body and the world around it.
All my life, home has been in motion. Living abroad for many years, moving from one place to another more times than I can recall, it has slowly shifted from something outside of me into something I carry within.
Not being able to return to my homeland
does not create distance it brings it closer. More present. More layered.
A quiet contradiction I live with.
In this series, I stay with that feeling. Step by step, I follow it not trying to define it, but allowing it to reveal itself on the canvas.
These works exist in the in-between. Where inside and outside blur.
Where light touches the body, and the body becomes a place.
So where is home? is it a country, a house, a piece of soil…
or something that lives under the skin?
There is this sweet place on earth.
Warm.
Held.
A quiet fortress
that carries what touches it
the bruises,
the weight of the outside,
and still…
it opens
to the gentlest touch,
to light falling softly,
kissing the skin.
This place knows both:
to protect,
and to feel.
I call this place home cause this is where I begin.