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Because materials, too, know when a form no longer contains them. And they know, without warning, how to find another.
LATEST
PROJECTS
Returning To Myself
After shoulder surgery, my body forced me to stop. I could no longer bear the physical or symbolic weight of the materials I had worked with for years. What I initially experienced as a limitation ultimately became an invitation: to leave the familiar behind and make room for a new language.
11:33 is composed of 363 handmade paper fragments, arranged in a structure of apparent repetition where no two pieces are alike. Fragile and imperfect, these elements find strength in their ability to support one another.
The work marks a transition. A shift from a practice rooted in tension, control, and structure to one more open to uncertainty, listening, and trust. It is not about loss. It is about transformation. It is about understanding that, at times, creating is not about holding on, but about learning to let go and allowing the work to transform us.
Technical Specifications
Year: 2026
Materials: Handmade paper with natural fibers, wire, wool, thread, recycled T-shirt yarn, seed beads, gauze, and organic pigments derived from coffee, tea, and wine.
Techniques: Papermaking, stitching, assemblage, and installation.
Dimensions: Variable depending on the exhibition space. Approximately 4 × 4 m in its original installation.
Returning To Myself
After shoulder surgery, my body forced me to stop. I could no longer bear the physical or symbolic weight of the materials I had worked with for years. What I initially experienced as a limitation ultimately became an invitation: to leave the familiar behind and make room for a new language.
11:33 is composed of 363 handmade paper fragments, arranged in a structure of apparent repetition where no two pieces are alike. Fragile and imperfect, these elements find strength in their ability to support one another.
The work marks a transition. A shift from a practice rooted in tension, control, and structure to one more open to uncertainty, listening, and trust. It is not about loss. It is about transformation. It is about understanding that, at times, creating is not about holding on, but about learning to let go and allowing the work to transform us.
Technical Specifications
Year: 2026
Materials: Handmade paper with natural fibers, wire, wool, thread, recycled T-shirt yarn, seed beads, gauze, and organic pigments derived from coffee, tea, and wine.
Techniques: Papermaking, stitching, assemblage, and installation.
Dimensions: Variable depending on the exhibition space. Approximately 4 × 4 m in its original installation.
MARU
ULIVI
Through textile art, photography, ceramics, and participatory installations, my work explores memory, identity, silence, and the body. Guided by intuition, I create without predetermined patterns, allowing the materials themselves to shape the process.
My practice is deeply reflective and meditative, rooted in inner listening and an ongoing dialogue with everyday life.
For me, art is introspection made tangible—a way of transforming personal experiences into visual language while weaving connections that transcend individuality and awaken collective narratives.
Unraveling
Fifty repurposed embroidery hoops, collected from various women across the United States, come together on the wall like a constellation of stories, memories, and experiences.
For centuries, the embroidery hoop was more than just a tool. It was a frame—a space where female creativity could exist within certain boundaries.
Unraveling begins with a question: What happens when we stop living within the frameworks we have inherited? Through macramé, embroidery, crochet, basketry, handmade paper, copper, recycled fibers, and ceramics, the work explores the tension between containing and liberating, holding on and letting go, the woven form and the void.
The fifty hoops allude to the fifty states that make up the nation and to the women from diverse cultures who have helped build its history. The colors evoke memories of that textile tradition: labor, migration, resistance, and transformation.
Although rooted in a specific territory, the work speaks to something universal: the visible and invisible structures we inherit and the possibility of redefining them.
For sometimes, what unravels is not the fabric itself, but the very thing that no longer allows us to be who we are.
Technical Specifications
Year: 2026
Materials: 50 repurposed embroidery hoops (wood, metal, cork, and plastic); natural fibers, cotton thread, paper yarn, copper wire, recycled t-shirt yarn, buttons, and beads made of various materials.
Techniques: Crochet, basketry, macramé, embroidery, and wrapping.
Dimensions: Approximately 200 cm × 150 cm in its original installation.
Unraveling
Fifty repurposed embroidery hoops, collected from various women across the United States, come together on the wall like a constellation of stories, memories, and experiences.
For centuries, the embroidery hoop was more than just a tool. It was a frame—a space where female creativity could exist within certain boundaries.
Unraveling begins with a question: What happens when we stop living within the frameworks we have inherited? Through macramé, embroidery, crochet, basketry, handmade paper, copper, recycled fibers, and ceramics, the work explores the tension between containing and liberating, holding on and letting go, the woven form and the void.
The fifty hoops allude to the fifty states that make up the nation and to the women from diverse cultures who have helped build its history. The colors evoke memories of that textile tradition: labor, migration, resistance, and transformation.
Although rooted in a specific territory, the work speaks to something universal: the visible and invisible structures we inherit and the possibility of redefining them.
For sometimes, what unravels is not the fabric itself, but the very thing that no longer allows us to be who we are.
Technical Specifications
Year: 2026
Materials: 50 repurposed embroidery hoops (wood, metal, cork, and plastic); natural fibers, cotton thread, paper yarn, copper wire, recycled t-shirt yarn, buttons, and beads made of various materials.
Techniques: Crochet, basketry, macramé, embroidery, and wrapping.
Dimensions: Approximately 200 cm × 150 cm in its original installation.
More Mine What I Dream Than What I Touch
This work draws from the Everglades — known as the River of Grass — a horizontal, slow-moving river that flows almost imperceptibly across the land. It is a system defined less by visible current than by sustained presence.
Constructed on a loom as a metaphor for territory and ecological structure, the piece weaves wool, cotton, jute, wire, and recycled t-shirt yarn into a suspended field where organic fibers and industrial elements coexist in tension.
Beige, greens, and earthy tones echo the actual landscape of the Everglades — mud, vegetation, roots. Here, water is not blue; it exists as humidity, saturation, and quiet movement.
Layered wrapped cords branch across the surface like hidden waterways or root systems, forming networks of interdependence. Wire introduces structural tension, subtly referencing both ecological fragility and human intervention within natural systems.
An empty frame embedded within the loom functions as a threshold. It does not depict a landscape; it creates space for one — opening toward interior territory, toward what is imagined, remembered, and dreamed.
The work hangs freely, unsecured at the bottom. Like the River of Grass, it resists rigid containment. Like a dream, it remains open.
More Mine What I Dream Than What I Touch
This work draws from the Everglades — known as the River of Grass — a horizontal, slow-moving river that flows almost imperceptibly across the land. It is a system defined less by visible current than by sustained presence.
Constructed on a loom as a metaphor for territory and ecological structure, the piece weaves wool, cotton, jute, wire, and recycled t-shirt yarn into a suspended field where organic fibers and industrial elements coexist in tension.
Beige, greens, and earthy tones echo the actual landscape of the Everglades — mud, vegetation, roots. Here, water is not blue; it exists as humidity, saturation, and quiet movement.
Layered wrapped cords branch across the surface like hidden waterways or root systems, forming networks of interdependence. Wire introduces structural tension, subtly referencing both ecological fragility and human intervention within natural systems.
An empty frame embedded within the loom functions as a threshold. It does not depict a landscape; it creates space for one — opening toward interior territory, toward what is imagined, remembered, and dreamed.
The work hangs freely, unsecured at the bottom. Like the River of Grass, it resists rigid containment. Like a dream, it remains open.
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