Memory is not a static archive; it is an active, ongoing construction. In Alchemy of Memory, I explore the reality that our memories are malleable—not historical records, but evolving narratives that shift according to our current emotional landscape. Every time we revisit a moment, we change it, layering our present self over the original experience.

My work investigates the tension between what we try to hold onto and the inevitable passing/slipping of time. I approach my canvases through "visual sampling," much like my early practice of splicing cassette tapes to create new sounds. I construct these paintings by layering, marking, and revealing, intentionally leaving the layers of my process exposed.

These material choices are deeply personal. I pair acrylic and pastel—mediums that resist one another—because their volatile interaction mirrors the instability of my own experiences. By pushing these materials to their limits, I open myself up to the discomfort of instability. This alchemical process creates a surface that feels ephemeral, revealing surprising depths as layers are peeled back.

The exhibition acts as a series of emotional anchors. I turn to objects of significance: my grandfather’s car that he took immense pride in, where peeling paint serves as a visual "glitch"; a rabbit totem that stands as a vertical connection to family; and a cassette tape, an archive of my earliest experiments with curating sound and capturing voice. Like the tapes I once spliced, our memories are recordings that degrade, stretch, and warp the more we play them.

Beyond the personal, I examine our place within the natural world. I paint hummingbirds as apparitions—creatures so rapid they defy our ability to truly witness them. Similarly, my depictions of flowers are not studies of biological decay, but of perceptual decay; the "glitch" emerges not in the flower, but in my own fleeting capacity to observe it. This highlights a darker reality: we were born into a "machine" of rigid expectations, and even in our coexistence with nature, our presence consumes.

A moment with my cat Milo explores the fragility that comes with care—the paradox of holding onto a moment that has already passed. It is a recognition that to love anything is to accept the vulnerability of losing it.