<sup>My visual work grows out of the practice of collage. Not as a formal exercise in juxtaposition, but as an act of remembrance and recollection; of gathering what has been cut, and too often discarded. I assemble. I bind. I bandage. I graft. And when I do select or separate, it is rarely to dissect or inspect, but to reveal and to manifest (for) lost proximities — to speculate and beguile forbidden forms of commonality. Still, I behold each fragment for what it is: heterogeneous, incomplete, and yet ampliative. The images I work with don’t illustrate or represent. They insist. Standing. On the move.

Collage, for me, is a tool of radical imagination — a visual ethics of gathering without erasing the wound, so that it might return as a scar that could, in turn, re.open into a portal. It deploys as a way of composing with and through instability; allowing for non-linear, kaleidoscopic engagements with memory, rupture, falsity, and repair. Not to fix images or identities, not to restore what’s been torn — but to entangle contradiction: textures of grief and joy; of erasure and resurgence, held otherwise.

Far beyond the lineage of Dada or the European avant-garde, my practice draws from Black compositional strategies that speak from and to dispersal — and from Indigenous, Afro-Caribbean, Afrofuturist, queer and non-Western traditions of world-making. Not toward hegemonic purity, but toward frictional proximity. Not coherence, but resonance. To make space is not to make visible, but to refuse the terms of visibility itself. What resists capture is not without reason—just beyond extractive sense.

This being said, what I do with images is what I do with thought, with words, with others. So not only does image-making complete my curatorial and research practice — it folds back into it. Collage is not the medium — it’s the code.</sup>