IV. The Edges of Expression
and the Work of Self-Acceptance

I am, honestly, a little afraid of being fully understood. Not because I’m hiding anything, but because I’m not yet ready to face the version of myself that might actually be seen.

 

Sometimes, when I say too much or reveal too much, I fall into a very specific kind of anxiety—like someone suddenly turning on the lights in a quiet room. You know the light isn’t hostile, but your first instinct is still to squint. And I think that reaction comes from a deeper truth: I haven’t fully aligned with myself yet.

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I haven’t reached that kind of real confidence—not the kind that looks like confidence from the outside, but the kind that feels like coherence on the inside. A state where I believe I can do anything, and also allow myself to fail. Where I’m not elated by being liked, nor shattered by being misunderstood. I know that when I truly arrive at that place, I’ll stop making work to prove something. I’ll still make work—but not to answer doubt or win approval. I’ll make it simply because I’m willing to stand in front of the world.

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Even without AI or installation, I’d still be making this work. Expression has always been there. The medium is just a path. If I couldn’t use AI, I’d draw. If I couldn’t draw, I’d build objects. These are just different exteriors—not prerequisites for expression. The question has never been how to speak. It’s always been: am I ready to speak?

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Sometimes I choose ambiguity because I genuinely prefer lightness. Not to avoid, but because “light” can be an intentional attitude. Like when you talk to a friend—often, the truest things are tucked inside a joke. The real stuff hides in the line that makes you laugh. I don’t need a heavy, face-to-face confession to say something real. I dislike that kind of forced “depth,” where you have to dig and suffer in order to be taken seriously. I don’t believe that only heavy things are sincere. So I speak in a way that’s soft, sometimes strange, even slightly absurd. I want what I say to have weight—but I want it to land gently, not crash down.

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If a viewer ever said to me, “I see what you’re saying,” I wouldn’t run. I’d take their hand. Because I don’t make work to keep people out. I make it to offer connection. Not linguistic connection, but something emotional, psychological—maybe even subconscious. If someone can see through the layers of collage, filters, distortions, detours—and still catch that one small thing I’m really trying to say—I’d be deeply grateful.

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I’m not afraid of being understood. I just don’t want to be seen too clearly before I’m ready.