I began with a body—my own—and refused to paint it the way they told me.
This series is rebellion in silk gloves.
Each curve confronts. Each pose rewrites.
She doesn’t ask to be seen—she demands it, then dares you to look deeper.
I climbed out of illusions—one stair at a time.
Above the noise. Above their ideas of what a woman should be.
They saw color, body, fantasy.
But they never saw the storm.
The ribbons? They untie expectations.
The masks? They reveal more than they hide.
The flesh? It’s surreal, because truth often is.
These works were born in the tension between who I was and who I refused to become.
Not soft. Not sweet. But sovereign.
The stairs don’t lead to nowhere.
They rise. Like I did.
And from up here—the silence tastes like power.
