About

I've spent most of my life between two extremes: the roar of the crowd and the silence of the sketchpad. As an athlete, I learned discipline, repetition, performance under pressure. But art — art has always been the place where I could exhale.

Before I ever wore a jersey, I held a pencil. Drawing was the first language I ever truly felt fluent in. It was where I processed things no one saw: the injuries I didn’t talk about, the fear before a game, the pressure to perform, the grief of loss, the joy of winning. Every stroke was a sentence. Every canvas, a memory.

People often see athletics and art as opposites — one physical, one emotional. But for me, they've always been mirrors. The rhythm of motion, the sensitivity to detail, the obsession with the process — it’s all the same. Whether it’s the perfect jump shot or the perfect line, I’m chasing the same feeling: presence. Flow. Truth.

My work often explores movement, tension, solitude, and the dual identity I carry — the public self and the private one. Through art, I reclaim the parts of myself that sport asked me to suppress. I’m not creating to impress. I’m creating to remember who I am.

This is the version of me that never needed a scoreboard.