it happens so fast. my attention scatters, my chest tightens, and my defences rise. i’m shown so much i would never choose to invite into my day: content that leaves me tense and slightly ashamed for watching, news fragments designed to spike stress

i’ve heard this phrase often: ‘i’m not racist, but…’ my eyebrows immediately rise. it’s a warning. i listen carefully, because what follows is usually what they believe, and also what they want to deny responsibility for.

destruction has followed me through my life as an artist. i’ve burned, broken, and erased my own work, searching for release when i cannot stand the pain.