About

I'm a 20-year-old artist caught between worlds, the clinical precision of anatomy and the emotional chaos of human experience, the methodical study of traditional masters and the urgent questions of our contemporary moment. To be less pretentious, I was and raised in the Boston area and currently pursuing a dual degree in Fine Arts and Psychology at Tufts University and the School of the Museum of Fine Arts. I exist in that space where art, for me, has become a tool for understanding both the body's architecture and the psyche, though increasingly I'm realizing that the real work happens in the spaces between making.

My practice unfolds across two interconnected territories, though perhaps they are the same territory seen from different angles. There is the work of medical illustration... the careful rendering of anatomical structures that aims to make the body's mysteries comprehensible, beautiful even. Through oil painting and traditional techniques, I seek to transform how we visualize and understand human anatomy, believing that art can help people connect more deeply with medical knowledge and their own embodied experience.

But there is also the other work, the darker work perhaps: surrealist explorations that grapple with our current human condition. These pieces emerge from a different kind of urgency (the need to process trauma, to critique the encroachment of AI into human spaces, to respond to global politics and social movements that reshape our understanding of what it means to be human in this moment). This work is messier, more vulnerable, less concerned with accuracy than with truth.

What I'm moving toward is art that serves, that advocates, that doesn't just represent but intervenes. I'm preparing to spend months researching historical approaches to anatomical visualization, not just to understand technique but to grasp how art has always been a way of making the incomprehensible human. I hope to continue diving deeper into biopsychology research in my undergraduate career, seeking internships that let me explore how the brain creates the experience of being alive, of being conscious, of being overwhelmed.

I see myself volunteering in spaces where art meets healing, where visual representation can bridge the gap between clinical knowledge and lived experience. There's so much I want to understand about how trauma lives in the body, how social movements reshape our understanding of what bodies matter, how AI threatens to hollow out the very thing that makes us human. Reading has become a kind of sustenance (neuroscience texts alongside poetry, medical journals next to manifestos), and I'm slowly building a theoretical framework for work that can hold both clinical precision and emotional chaos.

Drawing became my sanctuary during childhood, before I understood why the world felt so overwhelming, before the autism diagnosis that would recontextualize everything. What began as a self-regulatory practice (a way to focus when everything else felt chaotic) evolved into something more complex: a method of investigation, a means of survival, eventually a calling. The same methodical precision that once marked me as different now allows me to spend hours studying anatomical structures, to approach each painting with the kind of systematic rigor that transforms technical skill into emotional revelation.

Perhaps what drives all of this is that fundamental misalignment with the world before understanding why, the years of feeling like I was wearing someone else's skin. Art became the language I could speak when everything else felt impossible, and now that obsessive investigation feels like exactly what this moment requires. The same qualities that once marked me as different now feel like tools for understanding systems (neural, social, political) that are too complex for surface-level analysis.

Perhaps what I'm really after is a kind of visual honesty... work that doesn't shy away from the complexity of being human in a body, in this world, at this time. Whether I'm rendering the delicate architecture of neural pathways or creating surrealist commentary on technological dystopia, I'm seeking the same thing: ways to make visible what is often hidden, to find beauty in what frightens us, to create connection across the vast distances that separate us from understanding ourselves and each other.

When I'm not painting or studying, you'll find me volunteering at galleries, working in the lab, clinical practice and volunteer work, or even reading everything I can get my hands on. Trying to figure out how neurology, biology, sensation, and self shapes not just artistic perception but the possibilities for creating a more just and comprehensible world.