What does “un-censorship” mean to you personally, and how does it guide this body of work?
To me, self-censorship is a fairly common practice across many cultures which compels individuals to present a version of themselves that is curated and palatable. In my experience, this curated version is rarely authentic, and often excludes pain and weakness as unfavorable, despite these being common to the human experience. Un-censorship is simply my term for the reversal of this societal practice to pursue profound authenticity.
Your work exists in the space between what is shown and what is withheld. When creating a piece, how do you decide what to reveal and what to leave ambiguous or hidden?
I debated for a while whether or not to show the faces of the models—which were often me—but ultimately decided against it because the anonymity of the figures made the work more broadly compelling.
I also faced the choice to clothe the figures… or not. I ultimately decided to make them nude to convey vulnerability, but obscured more “risqué” anatomy because I didn’t want the pieces to become entirely about the flesh of the body, given that the nudity is symbolic.
Body language is powerfully communicative, and I showed just enough of each figure required to tell the story I wanted to tell.
Can you describe your creative process from the initial idea to the final image? Do these works begin with emotion, memory, narrative, or an intuitive response?
Each piece began with an authentic, emotionally turbulent moment. During the creation of this series, the world was dealing with an unprecedented pandemic. I found myself caught up in that struggle while simultaneously working and pursuing my Masters degree, both full-time. I was often overwhelmed, and I channeled that energy into the pieces you see. Interestingly, this practice of channeling difficulty into art was so healing and therapeutic that, nearing the end of my thesis, I had less and less content for the paintings because my mental health was so much improved! It was a good problem to have.
This exhibition deals heavily with vulnerability and exposure. What does it feel like to share deeply personal experiences in a public, digital space?
Every time—every time—it is deeply uncomfortable. You would think I would get used to the feeling, but I haven’t yet. However, I believe the message here is too important to hide. Conversations I’ve had around this work make it clear to me that showing some vulnerability allows others to feel safe enough reveal themselves a little bit, too. I’ve met strangers who told me stories that, according to them, they haven’t told anyone because they saw something of themselves in the work I created. That is a tremendous privilege and gift that I cherish.
Subtlety plays a powerful role in this series. How important is quiet tension, restraint, or suggestion in communicating complex emotional truths online?
The restraint that I exercised in this series was meant to allow the work to direct the audience, but not dictate to them. Each person who approaches my work takes something different from it. Different people resonate with different pieces. That’s what I wanted: for deeply personal experiences to engage with the larger human condition, and for each person to be given space to form their own interpretations and connections.
Do you see this body of work as a form of release, confrontation, healing, or documentation of a moment in time?
I believe this body of work encompasses all of these things. The imagery itself documents authentic moments. As I was creating it, the series was a form of emotional release, and as such, it was also deeply healing. However, the ultimate goal of the series is to confront and question the consequences of societal practices of self-censorship.
How has creating this series changed the way you view your own voice and boundaries as an artist?
I used to say that there are two types of artists: the liars and the truth-tellers. Before this series, I always considered myself to be one of the liars; I would present the world in a way that was more beautiful than reality. This type of work is comforting and lovely and valuable in its own way. However, with this series, I planted myself firmly in the camp of the truth-tellers who present the world as it is, not flinching away from beauty or unsightliness. Unfortunately, this makes my work much harder to sell, but now I find I can hardly make anything less honest.
When viewers encounter your work through a screen, often alone and in their own space, what do you hope they feel or reflect on while spending time with these pieces?
I hope my work allows viewers to feel seen and un-alone. So often, we assume that we are isolated in our struggles, but we rarely are. In the course of human history, it is likely that someone has felt as you feel. I hope my work can encourage someone who is struggling to reach out for help.
In a culture shaped by filters, censorship, and curated identities, what conversation do you hope this exhibition sparks about authenticity and self-expression?
The Un-censorship series reveals that authenticity is not always pretty, and self-expression can be messy. More importantly, this messy ugliness is part of the human experience. We all have our quirks and defects, and in a world of filters and curated identities that try to erase them, if this series can move the needle even slightly toward balance, it would have accomplished its purpose.
Looking ahead, how do you see Uncensorship influencing the direction of your future work? Does this exhibition feel like a transition or turning point in your practice?
Un-censorship is definitely a turning point, not just in my art, but in my journey as an individual. As I said earlier, this series revealed to me how cathartic it is to produce work that is brutally honest, and now I can hardly do anything else. While I still can’t resist the siren’s call of brilliant colors and dynamic contrast as aesthetic appeal, I see myself creating challenging and bluntly authentic work for many years to come, if not indefinitely, thanks to this series.