The darkness that comes to fruition in my art isn’t something I summon for effect—it’s something I listen to. It’s the residue of unspoken grief, self-doubt, and the quiet fractures that form when you keep living despite them. I don’t try to escape it or romanticize it; I let it surface, take shape, and tell the truth it’s been holding. Navigating it means moving slowly, with curiosity instead of fear, treating shadow as a teacher rather than an enemy. And every time I follow it all the way through, I find that it doesn’t lead to emptiness—it opens into clarity, resilience, and a deeper reverence for being alive.