My story has always been one of assembling—memories, textures, spaces, and thoughts—until they begin to speak to each other.

I was born in Paris, a city of hidden courtyards, torn posters, and poetic remnants. My childhood was filled with fragments: scraps of paper, dried petals, old photographs. I didn't yet know I was creating art; I simply gathered what the world left behind. I’ve since lived in Florence, where I learned the quiet rhythm of observation, and in Los Angeles, where I trained in storytelling through movement, image, and sound. Each city left an imprint on how I see and shape the world.

My formal studies took me deep into the language of film. I earned a Bachelor’s degree in Editing and Special Effects from the Conservatoire Libre du Cinéma Français, studied animation at Atelier de Sèvres in Paris, and completed a Master’s in Filmmaking and Producing at the New York Film Academy in Los Angeles. Editing taught me to sculpt time, rearrange emotion, and find rhythm in contrast. That instinct for layering and intuitive flow is now the heart of everything I create.

My collage and assemblage work is built from the same impulse: to gather the overlooked and turn it into something meaningful. I work with found materials—book pages, dry flowers, textures torn from everyday life—and use them to construct dreamlike landscapes. Waves often stand in for thoughts, rising and falling in motion. Dry flowers become markers of time, held still. My visual world is a mix of memory, surrealism, and philosophy—cities floating in skies, oceans full of krakens, and quiet moments that hold a thousand invisible threads.

In Waves of Memory, one of my core pieces, a kraken rises from a building within a collaged city, symbolizing how the past can resurface unexpectedly. I often explore how the subconscious seeps into urban life, and how fragments of our inner world shape the outer one.

I’m deeply influenced by Taoism’s concept of flow, by Confucius’ understanding of presence and ethics, and by Aristotle’s belief in purpose and interconnection. My work also draws from Gaston Bachelard’s poetics of space, Henri Bergson’s theory of intuitive time, Walter Benjamin’s love of fragments, Merleau-Ponty’s embodied perception, and Simone Weil’s idea of attention as a form of love. These thinkers guide not just my studio work, but also how I see the world. Recently, I took part in a Harvard online workshop on Chinese philosophy titled The Path to Happiness, which deepened my connection to Confucian and Taoist thinking. I am currently expanding my practice further with an online study in marketing, blending strategic insight with my creative instincts.

My mind is often overflowing with ideas—visions that arrive faster than I can catch them. Sometimes they appear in the form of images, sometimes as words, sometimes as fully-formed concepts for spaces, performances, or narratives. I used to feel the weight of having too much within me, but now I see it as part of my gift. Joining the marketing team as a Social Media Manager has offered me a channel to shape these ideas into stories that resonate—stories that can move between digital space and emotional space, between the fleeting and the eternal.

Beyond the canvas, I work in immersive theater and experiential production. As a Social Media Manager and creative collaborator, I shape digital narratives and visual storytelling that echo the themes in my physical art. Whether filming cast members in character, editing behind-the-scenes moments, or curating the atmosphere of a post, I bring the same layered, symbolic approach to my content as I do to my collage.

I’ve worked for venues where performance and reality intertwine—leading operations for Sleep No More at the McKittrick Hotel, managing teams and guest experiences at Manderley Bar, Gallow Green, Club Car, Overlook Bar, and hosting thousands of guests across multi-floor immersive events. I’ve also brought that same energy to House of Yes, one of NYC’s most vibrant nightlife and performance spaces. My background in venue management has taught me how to create experiences that are precise yet fluid, grounded yet surreal. From coordinating over 100 staff members to guiding guests through immersive worlds, I’ve learned how to balance chaos with grace.

Writing is another form of creation for me. It allows me to reflect, to explore the invisible patterns beneath surface experience. I often write about perception, ritual, emotional memory, and the shifting self. My essays and reflections draw from philosophy, cognitive science, and personal mythology—another way of building collage, just with words.

At the heart of it all is a common thread: the art of assembling. Whether I’m building a world on canvas, guiding a team through a live production, writing a reflective piece, or editing a story for the screen, I’m piecing together experiences—not to explain them, but to offer a space where others can feel, interpret, and wander.

I don’t create to explain. I create to invite. To pause. To let others drift into the in-between spaces, where meaning hums quietly beneath the surface.

Explore, interpret, linger—welcome to my world.