“The Window Where She Waited” 11″ x 14″ mixed media on canvas panel

In this piece, the first in the tenement series,  memory lingers like breath on glass. Old film slides, ghost-lit and amber-edged, flicker with scenes of windows, each a borrowed view from someone else’s longing. They frame the world as it once spun outside her reach: fire escapes like ribs, lace curtains barely breathing, brick softened by time. A faded merry-go-round turns out of frame, its horses frozen mid-prance with echoes of Coney Island joy one Brooklyn subway stop too far. The laughter there is faint, like music underwater, the carousel spinning in the mind long after the ride stopped. Pinned gently near the center, a dragonfly bauble shimmers so childlike and strange. It is a relic of sweet fears: the ones with wings and wide eyes that fluttered in from cracked windows and summer stories. This is not just a window. It’s the space where she paused between becoming and remembering, where dreams perched on sills, wings trembling. What view from your past still lives inside you? What waits beyond the glass you no longer press your forehead against?

An 11″ x 14″ mixed-media collage on a canvas panel features earthy tones and metallic elements, including a dragonfly and abstract shapes. Several popsicle sticks intersect various textured materials and small embellishments like leaves and a carousel.

“Glass Eyes from the Edge of the Nation” 12” x 12” canvas mixed media assemblage “Rez Windows” (2025, Mixed Media Series)

A window like a sentinel that’s silent, watching. Its edges are lined with puzzle pieces and weathered beads and bits of bottle glass, reclaimed from roadsides, lakes, and riverbanks, holding the shimmer of things discarded but not gone in this first piece from the Rez Windows series. Seeds press gently into the paper like the soft insistence of memory, and beads shimmer faintly like overheard lullabies from an adjacent room where a kind-hearted but soon-to-be-dead card shark plays poker with an eight-year-old while the rest of the house drifts off. These fragments stare outward and inward at once as if the cracked land itself were watching the world it once touched through the eyes of those who cannot forget. What broken or forgotten part of yourself still sees clearly? What do you witness from the place where you stand unseen?

“Jewelry for the Sky Beyond the Glass” 12” x 12” mixed media assemblage on canvas, “Rez Windows” (2025, Mixed Media Series)

Bits of costume jewelry and the beaded makings sparkle like an earring without its pair, a pendant once worn on powwow day, and glass beads strung from bent wire, dangling like forgotten constellations. They hang along with other baubles and trinkets on the preteen Indigenous girl’s window frame, offering themselves to the sun. Beyond the glass of this young Cancerian’s, hence the crab, the sky wears no adornment, only this, only now, as if she’s getting dressed for someone who finally knows how to look up and notice her. What pieces of your life do you offer as beauty, even if no one sees them? Who or what do you wish and dream for when you look up at the heavenly bodies above?

Rez Windows is a mixed media series that peers through the weathered glass of my Indigenous former reservation life where memory clings to the sill like dust, and the world drifts by in fragments. Each piece frames an outward and inward view, composed of found objects like matchbooks, beads, baubles, glass fragments, barrettes, trinkets, map scraps, and thread collected like stories. These windows do not simply open; they remember. They remember the weight of absence, the flicker of joy, the pulse of resistance, and the soft hush of everyday survival.

“What the Window Knew in Waubay” 12″ x 12″ mixed media assemblage on canvas (2025 “Rez Windows” series)

This window remembers. Pressed between antique glass panes and time, the town of Waubay drifts, half dream, half dust. Butterflies cling to the corners like soft-spoken ancestors, their wings tattooed with stories not written but felt. Buttons once stitched to sweaters worn at wakes and powwows anchor the wind’s whispers; baubles glisten like borrowed stars. A swatch of purple lace, once a pillow’s crown, billows like spirit smoke from Grandmother’s sigh. The old film slides lean against the sill, ghostly, translucent, offering glimpses of the world when it was young and looking outward from this very frame. Wildflowers, some dried, some painted in silver defiance, bloom beside twig relics plucked from the climbing trees of Enemy Swim Lake resort, where summers stretched long as shadows and every scraped knee or black eye was a badge of belonging. The window doesn’t just face the world. It holds it just as it did the music and 80’s hair from years past. Layered. Loved. Left behind. A shrine of soft resilience, looking out while always remembering within. What do the “windows” of your memory hold? What small, ordinary objects might become sacred when viewed through the lens of your own story?

“The Blueprints Still Becoming” 12” x 12” mixed media collage on canvas, 2025 “The Archive Beneath Our Fingertips” series

This piece feels like sifting through an attic box of nearlys like library cards never returned, ledger slips with unfinished columns, the soft imprint of lives lived on the edge of routine and rupture. Torn map pages and faded index tabs peek through like forgotten intentions, loosely categorized but never quite cataloged. Each scrap hums with potential, not for what was but for what almost was. There is a silence to the work that is not hollow but paused. It was as if the life it reflected was always waiting to be written in the margins. Dust clings not from neglect but from the breath of time inhaled and never quite exhaled. But then, beneath the archival quiet, an emergence: faint pencil lines of an architectural plan for tomorrow’s dreams. Not sharp, not final. Just a draft of the possibility. The outline of a sunroom where light might one day fall freely. A corner for rest. A threshold wide enough to welcome what was once kept outside. Here, the unfilled becomes fertile. The index doesn’t end; instead, it opens. The painting is a pause between pages, a blueprint not for what’s missing but for what’s still becoming. Which pieces of your past feel like index tabs to unlived dreams? Can they still become entry points for something new?

“Threadbare Curtains, Thunder in the Distance” 12” x 12” mixed media assemblage on canvas panel (from the 2025 “Rez Windows” series)

The curtains, worn thin by time and touch, sway in a breathless window, half-filtering the storm light, half-holding the weight of old beliefs like the white buffalo calf. As they flutter like a breath held too long, stitched from scraps of a flour sack, old lace, and old sheets and clothing hems gone thin with years. Dangling from the sill, a chain of charms, barrettes, and hair pins dulled by age, costume jewelry with stories in their tarnish, a cracked watch still ticking toward something unnamed. Beneath it all, the basement breathes as a dark cavity below the water table, swollen with damp fears and the scent of rust. Outside, the sky rolls its voice across the plains like a warning, a memory, a promise. Grandmother would drape scarves over every mirror when the thunder began, whispering that reflections could trap the soul if the veil between worlds grew too thin. Her hands, full of rosaries and broken baubles, moved like spells. This piece gathers the hush of that time-constrained room: the glint of trinkets lit by lightning, the slow drip of memory down cinderblock walls, and the fragile barrier of a curtain that never quite kept anything out while inside, the thread holds time together but just barely. You feel the storm before it arrives. What sound from your past still echoes inside you? What do you hold together with threads, even as it unravels?

“Moonlit Dividends and the Compass of Small Graces” 8” x 8” mixed media on canvas, 2025 “Rez Windows” series

Behind the frost-rimmed window, life was always counted in small measures like beads threaded in hope, barrettes laid out like bright stars against worn lace, baubles gathered like secret talismans. The broken glass caught the light not as flaw, but as memory refracted. Red Owl dividends, thin and insufficient, were nonetheless hoarded with the reverence of survival like small slips of paper whispering: make do, make more, make meaning.

And above it all, the moon that was round as longing, faithful as breath, shone brighter than any promise whispered through government walls or family fault lines. Tucked beside it in this layered remembering, a battered compass: not to navigate out, but to navigate through. It spun me steady when the wind of want and waiting tried to knock me off true north. This window remembers all that could not be spent and all that could never be lost. When all else diminished, the moon remained as the compass I followed when coins fell short. What small graces, objects, words, and rituals have guided you when the road was scarce? What is your compass when the world offers no map?

“Index of a Life Unfilled” 12” x 12” mixed media collage on canvas, 2025 “The Archive Beneath Our Fingertips” series

Card catalog slips scatter across layered pages of dates without events, authors unnamed. The acrylic bleeds through stories too blurred to retell, yet something hums beneath: a life not sorted, not shelved, but alive in its beautiful disarray. What part of your life resists categorization? In what ways do you defy being “filed” under one label? Consider a memory that doesn’t fit neatly anywhere and ponder why does it still stay with you?

“The Archive Beneath Our Fingertips” series is about memory that was not stored in our minds, but in the margins of old receipts, in the curve of a house sketched once in pencil and never again, in the rustle of catalog cards pulled from a forgotten drawer? This series is a reverence for what we almost discarded. Pages torn from instruction and imagination—maps that no longer lead, matchbooks that won’t ignite, and house plans for homes that never stood gather here in layered communion. Acrylic breathes through these fragments, not to obscure them, but to stitch them into something newly alive. Each painting is a palimpsest: a layered whisper of utility turned artifact, ephemera turned shrine. The everyday paper trail that’s unfiled, unsorted becomes the architecture of presence, where the past is not remembered perfectly but felt deeply. These are the archives we touch without realizing: the backs of envelopes, the slips of errands, the spines of paperback afternoons. We build our lives with them. We lose our time inside them. And sometimes, we find ourselves again in the soft architecture of what remains.

“Fields of Rust, Rivers of Ochre,” 16″ x 24″ acrylic on panel board, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

Ochre and scarlet fracture a field of burnt sienna and raw umber, threaded with metallic gold leaf at each edge. A portrait of damage and desire like the veins that remember what the heart can no longer hold. Decay and brilliance intertwined. Where in your story has decay given way to unexpected beauty?

In the “Residue of the Unforgotten” series, color is not mere hue instead it is a carrier of memory. Layer upon layer, textured and bold, these abstract works embody the raw sediment of a life once burned too brightly, now distilled to marks and impressions like thick impasto, tactile scars, areas of raised “memory.” The canvas holds what cannot be said like remnants of longing, flashes of rage, wounds sealed with time but not erased like aged, fractured surfaces evoking time’s figurative wear. Each piece is an invocation of the stories we carry in our bones as the stories that still stain the present as in the subtle sparkles in shadowed or metallic areas, the echoes of old paper, fabric and thread in the fiber paste, or coarse pumice gels rough, weather textures as in rust or ash. The veins, buried glimmers, raw memory beneath painted layers and embedded textures evoking residue, ruin, and remembrance.

“Shadows Hung on Fire Escapes,” 11″ x 14″ mixed media collage on canvas panel, “Tenement Windows” (2025, Mixed Media Series)

That tangle of wire mimics the endless fire escapes, clinging to Brooklyn’s brick skin and its makeshift ladders to nowhere, stories woven between steel and air. Behind curtain-draped windows, shadows lean against cracked glass. Typewriter keys lie silent near stray spools of cassette tape needing recovery from the trusty pencil. Bright beads strung in doorways as curtains between rooms yearn for fingers too young for longing.

Antique glass catches slivers of sky, blue as borrowed hope. Scraps of paper bear faded imprints of a life lived vertically, in stair-step pauses. The shadows are stitched with seeds of longing and the glint of baubles too bright for the dim halls behind them. Each piece is a tether, an anchor to the unseen stories beyond every window. In a preteen’s bedroom, across the dangling clothesline away, where an older teen’s boombox spins “Funkytown” into the oppressively thick late summer air, across linoleum and heat, a small defiance against the weight of peeling walls and borrowed furniture. The walls dressed in tropical pinks, yellows, purples, and blues left behind, by tenants who vanished like smoke to their Caribbean hometowns, became a source of wonder to the girls who remained, threading their days through home economics clothing patterns and worn loose-leaf binder rings.

Coffee cans held more than baubles, trinkets, and barrettes; they caught the soft ache of childhood: the wish to escape, the will to stay. Here, amidst the brick labyrinth, the fire escapes were never climbed; they were only imagined by those who danced in bedrooms strewn with loose-leaf pages and pencils, dreaming up bright ladders to another place.

What do you reveal in shadow that you wouldn’t in light? Where in your life do you feel suspended between escape and return?

“The Hem That Held the Summer,” Residue of the Unforgotten series, Denim & Memory sub-series

A patch of Guess. A tear of Levi’s. Together, a love story worn. Despite the bubblewrap print lines mimicking rebellion in the school year’s daily orderliness of get-in-line classes, I can still feel the fray on the hem of those Guess jeans that were sun-bleached from the northern plains “Desert” river bottoms sandbars and stained faintly from a fall at a midsummer 1986 AC/DC concert,  a smudge that never quite lifted. We wore our stories in what we chose: pocket triangles, torn knees, button flies undone by memory more than touch. Denim & Memory is where those fragments live again like a stitched map of longing, belonging, and the hours that moved too fast beneath the weight of unsent songs. This piece mimics the sandy bonfires and camping riverside and remembers one such summer. Beneath the badge and the brand, memory wore through. What threads are you still holding?”

Threads worn, words unsaid, patches kept against the slow burn of forgetting. We wore our stories in stitches. In back pockets and belt loops, in zippers and frays. In the blue denim, we saved for and the black denim we inherited. This series gathers the scraps, the torn patches of Guess triangles, and faded Levi’s knees as if they were pressed flowers from a chapter long closed but never truly forgotten. They are more than fabric; they are residue. The ghosts of slow dances, stalled phone calls, mixtape confessions, and mall-bought identities. In a burned field of raw umber and sienna longing, these denim fragments become relics that tell a layered story: of brands worn like armor, of words unsaid but kept in the seams, of how adolescence stitched itself into our bones one pocket, one thread, one singed stain at a time. Residue of the Unforgotten: Denim & Memory invites the viewer to listen beneath the surface to the friction of fabric, the static of memory, and the unfinished conversations between what was worn and what was truly felt. We dressed in armor we thought was soft.

In this scorched field of burnt sienna and raw umber, a single patch of faded blue denim clings like a relic of longing. It’s a scrap from a pair of coveted Guess jeans once worn by a girl who saved every babysitting dollar beneath the coil of a rotary phone cord. Nearby, scarlet splotches bloom like heartbeats spilled too fast, and a darker fragment of black Levi’s denim that lies half-buried, carrying the ghost of a boy whose laughter always came easier in parking lots than in classrooms.

Together these two patches whisper of a dance beneath gymnasium lights, the friction of palms meeting beneath metal bleachers, the ache of belonging wrapped in seams and stitches. The brands they wore were more than fashion. They were currency, armor, invitation, and refusal. The field remembers them both with the girl pressing her Guess triangle like a secret badge, the boy hiding a mix tape in his back pocket below a thrifted tee, these black Levi’s worn thin at the knees. Now only these fragments remain, faded but stubborn, resisting the slow burn of forgetting.

The blue Guess Jeans patch  was once the corner of a back pocket, triangle logo intact, this patch belonged to a pair of stonewashed Guess jeans bought after months of babysitting for neighbors who still called her “young lady.” They were worn first to a Friday night football game where she stood alone at the chain-link fence, pretending not to hope for certain eyes to find her. Those jeans caught the eye of one who did and that was the beginning and the end of a brief, blazing chapter.

And the black Levi’s patch is ripped from the knee of a pair of black Levi’s, these threads held the memory of the kind of boy who drove a dented Camaro, Firebird, or Mustang and carried cassette tapes labeled in blocky Sharpie script. The jeans were his second skin worn during backroad joyrides and first kisses behind shuttered diners. He liked that they weren’t blue which was a quiet rebellion. The night he tore the knee vaulting a chain-link fence was the night she first let him hold her hand beneath the stars.

What garments or objects from your own youth became symbols of your identity? What single fragment of memory do you carry like these denim scraps that are stubborn, frayed, and vivid against the passage of time?

I have always been drawn to what is layered and worn, the textures that hold more than their surface suggests. Denim & Memory gathers the frayed patches of adolescence and stitches them into a new field of remembering. With its fray, weight, and cultural symbolism, denim was more than fashion; it was a second skin, a badge, an unspoken language in the space between longing, belonging, and rebellion. In this series, I pair scraps of blue and black denim with sienna and umber-washed earth, text fragments, and objects caught between the seams of 1980s youth culture. This work continues my larger practice of assembling the overlooked antique glass, paper, beads, baubles, trinkets, lace, and thread into layered compositions that invite reflection on identity, memory, found objects, and the residue of the unseen where threadbare edges recall the pulse of songs and shadows long faded because we carried our names in rivets and thread, hoping to be seen. Denim & Memory is both personal and universal: a field where every viewer might glimpse the echo of their own stitched story. I invite viewers to touch the seams of their own histories and consider what is kept, what is worn away, and what still lingers beneath.

“Where Archives Meet the Horizon,” 11″ x 14″ acrylic collage on cradled board, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

A vast swath of blue hangs heavy above a muted ground of gray—two planes of existence pressing against one another, forever separated yet impossibly intertwined. The blue holds the echo of open skies, the possibility of endless story carried on the breath of spoken word, passed from voice to ear, from ancestor to child. The gray below settles like paper dust, the weight of ledgers, records, catalog cards — documents of a history written in neat lines I was never invited to read. Between them rises a vertical column of old card catalog entries, brittle slips that attempt to catalogue a world that always eluded capture.

Bright strokes of peach, green, lemon, and burnt sienna slice through these fields like the scattered fragments of identities inherited but never fully held. The palette knife pulls of aqua on the gray pulse like memory’s heartbeat — trying, failing, insisting — while lemon on the blue flares like something once said but never written, burning bright before it vanishes into unrecorded air.

I straddle the fence between these two archives: one written in ink and omission, the other whispered in stories and dreams. Neither fully mine, yet both pulsing in my blood. There is a loneliness here — of being named but not known, of carrying lineages that contradict and converse only in quiet places. This painting holds that unresolved space — where archives meet the horizon, where the written record falters, and the wind carries songs I half-remember, half-invent.

It is not absence, but a different kind of presence. The place between two truths. The weight of what I was never given, and the beauty of what I can still gather. What truths live in the spaces between what was documented and what was simply lived? As you stand before this horizon, consider the pieces of your identity that were whispered to you, the ones you’ve had to invent, and the ones still waiting to be claimed.

In “Residue of the Unforgotten”, color is not mere hue instead it is a carrier of memory. Layer upon layer, textured and bold, these abstract works embody the raw sediment of a life once burned too brightly, now distilled to marks and impressions like thick impasto, tactile scars, areas of raised “memory.” The canvas holds what cannot be said like remnants of longing, flashes of rage, wounds sealed with time but not erased like aged, fractured surfaces evoking time’s figurative wear. Each piece is an invocation of the stories we carry in our bones as the stories that still stain the present as in the subtle sparkles in shadowed or metallic areas, the echoes of old paper, fabric and thread in the fiber paste, or coarse pumice gels rough, weather textures as in rust or ash. The veins, buried glimmers, raw memory beneath painted layers and embedded textures evoking residue, ruin, and remembrance.

“Aquifer of the Half-Known,” 11″ x 14″ cradled hardboard collage, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

Rows of aqua and grey hum like forgotten ledgers — the thin record of what was kept, and what was allowed to evaporate. The white bands offer the illusion of clean divisions, but from the upper edges, cerulean drips fall like questions never fully answered, threads unwound from stories interrupted.

Embedded within the layered textures are fragile remnants — ticket stubs, torn letters, receipts yellowed with dislocation — ephemera once tethered to lives and places I only partly belong to. My identity seeps between these strata: the known, the assumed, the concealed. Like an underground aquifer, history pulses beneath my feet — unseen but present, filtering through generations, sedimented by silences, distorted by what was documented and what was only ever spoken.

The painting is a quiet excavation of belonging, a sedimentary record of partial inheritances. It is the residue of names half-spelled, stories half-told, ancestors half-visible — a visual whisper of how one can be built from both presence and omission.

What names, faces, or places hover at the edge of your knowing — present, yet blurred — like water pulling ink into silence?

In “Residue of the Unforgotten”, color is not mere hue instead it is a carrier of memory. Layer upon layer, textured and bold, these abstract works embody the raw sediment of a life once burned too brightly, now distilled to marks and impressions like thick impasto, tactile scars, areas of raised “memory.” The canvas holds what cannot be said like remnants of longing, flashes of rage, wounds sealed with time but not erased like aged, fractured surfaces evoking time’s figurative wear. Each piece is an invocation of the stories we carry in our bones as the stories that still stain the present as in the subtle sparkles in shadowed or metallic areas, the echoes of old paper, fabric and thread in the fiber paste, or coarse pumice gels rough, weather textures as in rust or ash. The veins, buried glimmers, raw memory beneath painted layers and embedded textures evoking residue, ruin, and remembrance.

“The Weight Between Light and Ash” 9″ x 12″ acrylic collage on canvas, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

This canvas breathes in quiet layers, each holding the fragile weight of what was carried and what could not be left behind. At the top, a pale grey veil hovers like a sky emptied of certainty but still luminous with the ache of memory. Below, a band of lemon slice and olive green pulses like a fragile heartbeat caught between light and decay, like the seasons turning but never fully releasing what came before. A thin seam of diarylide yellow glows like an old flame briefly remembered—brief but persistent—a sunlit remnant trapped between muted recollections. Beneath it all, the dark grey settles heavy at the bottom, a sediment of unsaid words, of years compressed into unspoken gravity.

Ephemera embedded in the surface whisper their quiet testimonies: brittle, pressed wildflowers once gathered with innocent hands; small wooden buttons once stitched to garments now long discarded; pieces of maps from dislocated journeys, fragments of antique glass glinting like broken promises; old safety pins barely holding the layers together; handwritten scraps torn from an old diary, its entries unfinished. These artifacts do not shout, but hum like a subtle elegy for all the almost-forgottens we carry beneath our own polished surfaces.

Where in your life do brightness and heaviness coexist? As you witness the pale greys, fleeting yellows, and grounded darks, consider the quiet burdens you carry, some inherited, some self-chosen. What small remnants: forgotten tokens, old letters, worn fabric that might still hold stories you have not fully allowed yourself to revisit? What would it mean to let them speak?

“The Breach Beneath Calm Waters” 8″ x 8″ gallery-wrapped canvas acrylic collage, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

Layers of fragile ephemera form the sediment of this canvas, a paper archaeology of lives half-remembered. Over this forgotten correspondence, color drifts like water across submerged history.

The upper and lower quarters breathe in sea green like a steady surface, a façade of calm. But between these mirrored fields lies a restless band of sea blue, like shallow tropical depths concealing the pulse of stories unsettled. From this center, harsh downward slashes of manganese blue pierce the serenity, falling like blunt interruptions or sudden griefs, silenced voices, ruptures never fully stitched closed. Below, aqua knife swipe marks scar the lowest edge, the sharpest remnants of pain left behind, but still dangerously near the surface.

This is the sea of unspoken lineage: calm from a distance, fractured upon closer gaze. What was forgotten was never gone; instead, it waits beneath, where the wounds continue to speak through color and cut.

Consider the layers beneath your personal or collective history. What fragments have been buried, misplaced, or conveniently forgotten? How might those submerged memories continue to influence who you are, even when they remain unseen?

“Where Dividing Lines Fail to Hold” 8″ x 8″ gallery-wrapped canvas collage, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

On a canvas layered with the fragile papers of lives barely recorded—receipts, ledger scraps, torn maps, and fragments of forgotten correspondence—memory floats in color. The pale violet above evokes a sky too exhausted to speak, while below, dark violet pools like ancestral ink spilled across generations. Scattered aqua blooms rise like unspoken names resurfacing from beneath the weight of silence.

Between these worlds, a slicing vein of orange, red, and aqua slashes through—not a border, but a rupture or a pulse. The tremor of lineage straining against imposed divisions. This dividing line tries to separate, but fails, bleeding color into both halves as histories leak across the boundaries drawn by others. The ephemera beneath whispers of what was recorded, what was omitted, and what insists on existing despite erasure. In this piece, the collision of hue and memory becomes a quiet rebellion. The forgotten persist—not in their completeness—but in the residue that refuses to fade.

As you observe the fractured line dividing these colors, consider the unseen threads that connect what others tried to separate. What parts of your identity persist in the spaces where the world drew lines?

“The Ledger of Unspoken Journeys,” 9″ x 12″ acrylic collage on canvas, 2025 “Residue of the Unforgotten” series

This is not a painting, but an exhumation. The canvas breathes with the weight of what was never spoken aloud. Papers sag and curl, their inked lines splintered, edges burned as though by some quiet violence long past. Singed paper clings to the surface like skin scorched and peeling, each fragment a mute witness to vanished paths. Beneath thin, brittle membranes of crackled gel, ledgers tally debts that can no longer be repaid, numbers and names like gravestones in an unmarked cemetery of memory.

Titan buff veils the upper horizon like the dusted breath of forgotten ancestors. Below, the aqua and cerulean layers swell like drowned archives, heavy with stories that sank too soon. Charcoal smudges bleed outward like soft, bruised shadows of recollections that refuse to hold their shape. Through it all, cadmium red wounds the composition in sudden strikes, small eruptions of grief breaking the quiet, the sharp pulse of what still aches.

Scraps of fabric hover like spirits caught mid-whisper, their threads unraveling as if still tugged by unseen hands. The cold glint of metallic leaf flashes in odd places, like coins left on the eyes of the lost, fleeting remnants of value in a ledger written mostly in absence. Typewriter keys rise from beneath, their worn letters locked in permanent stutter like sentences severed before they could explain.

Here, you do not follow a map. You trace the ghost-lines of what was once intended: an inventory of residue: conversations aborted, promises disintegrated, inheritances abandoned.   haunted account of the distances we carry inside us like the ledger that keeps its own quiet vigil long after the journey itself is done. This is a ledger of absences, a quiet ledger of the almost-remembered, the half-spoken, the unfinished. And still, it hums.

Where have you traveled emotionally or physically that has left no official map behind? Where do you carry the ghost-lines of stories or relationships that were never fully allowed to exist?

The Residue of the Unforgotten series gathers what lingers: the fragments too stubborn to vanish, the quiet evidence of lives lived between margins. Each piece in this series becomes a fragile excavation of memory, all layered, obscured, wounded, and stitched. Here, ephemera such as maps, receipts, ledgers, catalog slips, matchbooks, and book pages become not merely artifacts, but emotional proxies like small anchors for what slips away. The surfaces crack, burn, and blur, echoing the ways memory itself distorts under time’s weight.

In The Ledger of Unspoken Journeys, the residue is particularly haunted in a silent accounting of what was once promised, exchanged, or withheld. The typewriter keys, scorched paper, and glimmering metallic leaf all speak in ghost tongues. These materials serve as both witness and relic, suggesting that what we forget still leaves its imprint, like breath on glass, like bruises beneath skin.

The Residue series lives in that charged space between documentation and erasure, where memory collapses into texture, and forgetting becomes a kind of preservation. Every layer holds both absence and presence. Every mark is an echo.