“In the beginning, there was nothing. Yet from nothing, everything was born.”

My practice begins in that silent interval — the breath before creation, the unseen moment when matter decides to become life. The eggshell, a fragile threshold between existence and the void, becomes my chosen language. What the world discards as breakable, I reclaim as a relic of birth, a thin architecture that once held possibility.

I gather shattered shells the way one gathers fragments of memory. Guided by touch rather than plan, I thread each piece into place, letting the material determine its own logic. Through accumulation, pressure, and repetition, the surface grows — not painted, but cultivated. The result is neither collage nor sculpture, but a terrain formed by patience, a quiet topography shaped by persistence and restraint.

The eggshell’s contradiction — delicate yet enduring — mirrors the way life survives: through tension, through cracks, through its refusal to disappear. As fragments interlock, they reveal an unexpected truth: resilience is born from what appears most vulnerable.

My work ultimately becomes a record of becoming, a map of small beginnings that carry immense weight. It is an ode to creation, to the labor of forming a self, and to the silent force that urges all things to emerge from nothing into being.