My practice is rooted in acts of care: slow, repetitive gestures that attend to what remains after rupture. Working across drawing, painting, installation, and sculpture, I create works from time-bearing residues—eggshell, cooking carbon, ash from joss paper burnings, and soil from the places I live. Collected through daily and ceremonial cycles of burning, preserving, and layering, these materials become archives of what has been consumed, offered, remembered, or quietly set aside; they allow memory to be held, not simply illustrated.

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Through accumulation and restraint, my work hovers between making and unmaking, presence and erasure. Heat, pressure, and burning mark time into the surface, allowing destruction and preservation to exist simultaneously. Perception shapes the work—how a surface withholds and reveals—through reflection and shadow, layering, repetition, and proximity. I approach abstraction as a language assembled from what remains—fragments, residue, and the measured use of restraint. What emerges are quiet fields and liminal spaces that ask for pause rather than resolution.

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I return to questions of how presence survives disappearance when home and language shift; how materials remember what people are asked—or forced—to forget; and how belonging might be felt from an in-between rather than a fixed place. This attention to what disappears and what remains is shaped by Chinese-Indonesian histories of erasure and reinvention—felt in my work as gaps, restraint, and partial visibility—and by what gets carried when leaving becomes necessary. Residue becomes what political rupture leaves behind: what is torn away, what is held onto, and what is slowly reassembled elsewhere.

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Born in Jakarta and raised in the American South, I move between Chinese-Indonesian traditions and Buddhist and Christian practice. Spiritual practice and ritual shape my sense of rhythm and attention. Rather than illustrating specific events or biographies, I work with what persists in their wake—residue, repair, and the quiet endurance of longing. These works ask for proximity: from a distance they hold as quiet fields; up close they break into seams, residue, and pressure-marks. As light and shadow shift, the encounter unfolds in real time. In my practice, impermanence is a sensation, and longing is held in the interval.