05/27/2026
Last night I thought about my life — the things I do, my talents, my strengths, my weaknesses, my fears, my silence, my comfort, and my art. I realized that all of these things are not separate from one another; together, they are my art. And my art is my voice.
But my art cannot be defined by the standard idea that art is simply the application of creative skill to be admired for its beauty. My art is the way I speak. It is the way I hear. It is the way I see. Through it, I move through darkness toward the light of my surroundings.
Without it, I would be deaf, dumb, and blind — unable to communicate.
When I am lost and words fail me, I let my art, my music, and my cooking speak on my behalf. In those moments, things become clearer, and the words that have been hiding in my heart finally find their way to the table.
In song, the lyrics may not be mine, but the ones I choose to sing are those I can interpret with my own voice.
Photography allows me not only to show others what I see, but what I hear. A photograph can hold a moment where a musician, an actor, or a sunrise is frozen in time — yet if you look closely, you can still hear the voice of the performer, the birds calling as the sun rises, the intensity of an actor mid‑line.
Like my cooking, my art is a blending of my experiences — the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met, the art and cultures that have shaped me. Each creation is like a mulatto child, a mixture of the best the world has offered me.
In these things live my words, my world, my feelings. They are my language — the way I speak to others, and the way I speak to the universe.
