The city climbs into its hubris. 

Its inhabitants, drunk on the views, reveling in their creation. 

They recline in the coolness of their towers, giddy to keep the heat outside. 

They confuse the beating sun as attribution to their glory, for they know how to manage.

They speak of domination. 

Absorbed in themselves, their tongues lick inwards. 

Language is no longer an act of connection, but a grasp for control.

Speak to hear themselves, to savor the melody of genius.

They develop an interior tongue. 

Intentions trapped in their skulls, circling, crashing, collapsing. 

They look at their neighbor: a point of comparison, a subject of conquest.

They forget what it is like to speak for the sake of connection. 

Caged in their flesh.

She foretells the oncoming storms.

She whistles in the winds as they become stronger, 

and she nudges with the swells that turn acidic. 

But their ears are turned inward, 

listening to their internal tongues.

She bows to their deafness, 

taking to her mantle of sacrifice.

They see her submission and choose to build upon her. 

Vanity compels them to ravage her.

And when the waves come, 

when the city topples, 

their cries fall on turned ears.

And She? 

She maintains her genuflection, 

ready to give them her body for when they build again.

Waters fall over her lips, 

but it doesn't matter,

since she chose silence long ago.

This piece was first exhibited at the Yale Club of New York in 2024 at the Palette to Purpose exhibition. Palette to Purpose is a climate arts coalition I founded at Yale in order to spread climate hope and joy in a time of environmental nihilism.

This piece was made in honor of the bird and its flight. 

Purple Martin was exhibited at the Connecticut Audubon Society and auctioned off. 

The earned proceeds of this piece went to bird conservation. In doing so, the art collector became part of the Audubon society's effort to protect the purple martin.

This piece was inspired by the my research fellowship in Japan, in which I sought to understand the distinctions between Eastern and Western environmental philosophy. I traveled to rural mountainsides and villages to speak with monks, yoginis, and bee keepers. The conversations I had with them are directly infused into this work.

An orchid crawls up the periphery of the baby. Its inclusion is an ode to my grandmother. My grandmother studied botany before shifting her life to account for the demands of a marriage. Her gardens are filled with orchids, upholding the legacy of flowers in the family.

The Whooping Crane featured here is native to my home in South Florida. They rely on freshwater marshes and floodplain habitats, both of which are at risk of drought and salination due to the changes in temperature and rising seas involved with climate change. 

How does power position itself?

I sat in mangroves, in the mud, watching ibises pass in front of me. They sifted through the water, looking for food in the muds. I took inspiration from my sit. The yellow lotus, native to Florida, is a recall to my childhood ventures in the gardens near my home. 

The creation of this piece was a sequence of waiting, seeing, and adding. Before the waters dried, I timed when to add more color. I played with opacity at each drying phase.

This painting came about conjointly with my research about climate migration. A phenomenon of mass human displacement caused by the earth's intensifying natural conditions. 

May we find a way to honor roots? A way to celebrate the interlocking of backgrounds and paths. May we get to a point where we create fertile soil so that we may all be rooted?

Will we be in charge of the timing of our rest, or will our turning dust be a consequence of our negligence?

War and Peace were made in front of a live audience of 100+ students as a collaboration with singer-songwriter Zaida Rio. 

While Rio debuted her song 'Slow Violence,' I painted these, asking for a woman from the audience to model 'grasping'. The joint performance was a commentary on the cyclical nature of abuse when in pursuit of 'wanting more'. The feminized recipient of abuse is victim to the tides of control but she's quiet in its wake. Is nature She who is quiet?

After the performance, I left Peace in a dry, silent room, lines and colors stayed crisp. Meanwhile, War was left in the drumming of the rain, leading to the bleeding of colors and lines.