From my earliest memories, one word sits at the center of everything I have experienced: home.
 

Perhaps this is the first subject that comes to mind for any child when they begin to paint, but for me, it has never faded in importance. Through painting and drawing, I repeatedly return to this idea, exploring what home means in a shifting, unsettled sense.

Home is where I define myself, shaped by memory, emotion, and lived experience, yet it is never fixed. It changes, evolves, and sometimes disappears. I am always searching for a sense of home within my mind, my body, and the world around me. Every city I have lived in leaves its trace, but now, living thousands of miles from my birthplace, this search feels more urgent. Each sketch or painting becomes a fragment of a larger puzzle I am still assembling.
 

I believe that all my paintings are different attempts to answer a single question:

How can I connect with my surroundings?

In this search, landscape painting is a way of questioning what surrounds us and how we relate to it. It is not merely about representing a place but about conveying the human experience within it.
 

In my most recent series of paintings, Islanders, I was inspired by the landscapes of Vancouver Island. These paintings reflect the experience of arriving in a place that feels both beautiful and unfamiliar. Each work explores the tension between presence and isolation, between the natural beauty that surrounds me and the melancholy that often accompanies displacement.
 

In this work, driftwood scattered across the beach becomes a metaphor for displacement: separated from their origins, arriving with broken bodies and vulnerability. Yet their presence is not passive: they alter the landscape and quietly redefine it. For me, the driftwood speaks to the condition of being uprooted, but also to the way displaced bodies continue to shape, mark, and inhabit new environments.