I create from the intersection of light and shadow—where beauty and grief converge into reflection. My practice began in the aftermath of rupture: in October 2020, my father suffered a hemorrhagic stroke. Bearing witness to his struggle to recover language, memory, and movement altered my understanding of perception itself. Photography became the only language that felt honest enough to translate what words could not—the fragility of being, the resilience of love, and the unseen textures of faith.

My camera became a vessel rather than a tool. Through it, I learned that to frame light is to engage in reverence. Each image is an act of surrender—a moment suspended between loss and becoming, faith and form. I am drawn to reflection—mirrors, glass, water—because they reveal both the world and the self observing it. They remind me that truth is rarely singular; it is refracted, layered, and alive.

My work exists between spiritual inquiry and visual architecture. I am interested in how image-making can function as a site of healing and remembrance, how the physical act of seeing can restore a sense of communion with what is sacred. Whether through photography or immersive experience, I aim to construct spaces that slow the viewer’s gaze—where stillness becomes revelation and attention becomes worship.

Through my brand and body of work, MQL, I seek to turn personal narrative into collective restoration. Every project—whether an image, an event, or an object—extends from a single conviction: that creation is stewardship. Art is how I translate pain into purpose, solitude into service, and memory into meaning.

Ultimately, my practice is an attempt to reconcile the temporal with the eternal—to find, within impermanence, the trace of something that endures. When everything else is stripped away, what remains is light, love, and the quiet reminder that reflection itself is holy.