Where Language
Begins to Breathe
They’ve often called me elusive. Perhaps it’s because I don’t always speak in ways people expect. Words, to me, have felt like tidy compartments – useful, but rarely enough to hold all that moves within.
My expression doesn’t arrive in straight lines. It unfurls – in brushstrokes and breath, in pages and postures, in silence and stillness. Acting gave me a gesture. Painting gave me colour. Writing gave me rhythm. Yoga gave me space. And somewhere in the ebb and flow of these forms, I discovered a language wide enough to carry my truth of connections, boundaries and limitlessness.
