I've always experienced the world with unusual depth. Sensitivity shaped the way I saw and felt everything-and, over time, became the language I use to express it. My journey has been quiet, steady, and deeply personal-a reflection of how I move through the world.
For as long as I can remember, I've experienced the world with unusual depth. I felt everything-beauty, sorrow, silence, tension-with a kind of intensity that often felt too much for those around me. As a highly sensitive person, I was told more than once to be less emotional, to stop feeling so much. For a long time, I tried to quiet that part of me. I thought I needed to fit into something more stable, more socially comfortable.
But sensitivity doesn't stay silent for long. It has a way of resurfacing-softly, insistently-until you finally listen. Over time, I came to understand that this way of feeling deeply wasn't a weakness; it was a way of connecting, of noticing what often goes unspoken. That shift changed everything. I no longer wanted to suppress it-I wanted to give it form.
With a background in accounting, I had followed a path that made sense on paper. But my inner world kept calling me somewhere else. On weekends, I began taking classes at an atelier school, slowly nurturing a creative voice I had kept hidden for too long. As that voice grew, so did my desire to deepen my practice. I sought out workshops with respected educators both locally and abroad, each experience helping me develop the skills I needed-but more importantly, giving me space to express myself with honesty and clarity.
A turning point came when I was invited to exhibit in Lima, Peru, as part of a group show celebrating 200 years of independence. It was the first time I shared my work publicly. That moment gave me the quiet confidence to keep going. Since then, I've had the opportunity to exhibit in Berlin, Barcelona, and Rome.
Though I'm naturally introverted, one of the most unexpected and rewarding parts of this journey has been the connection it's opened with others. When someone tells me a piece made them pause, or feel understood, it reminds me why I create. These quiet exchanges have become an extension of the work itself-subtle reminders that art can be a bridge between our inner lives.
Today, I continue to create from a place of presence and emotional depth. My process is slow and intuitive, unfolding like a quiet conversation. Through each piece, I hope to offer a space where others might feel seen-or simply reminded that sensitivity is not something to overcome, but something to honor.