About

It all started during the first lockdown. She began making ephemeral artworks, letting them disappear as a quiet rebellion against the idea of permanence. If the pandemic would end, so would her pieces—nothing lasts forever, and that thought comforted her. Then came the anesthesia carpule. At first, just a tool—ordinary, functional. But the more she held it, the more it fascinated her. Its transparency, its precision, the way it carried both relief and restraint. She started seeing it differently. She saved the empty carpules, stacked them, arranged them, and let them become something else. Faces, stories, emotions. Obsession settled in, not only with the object itself but with what it could become. It was no longer waste; it was possibility. Art became her escape, her therapy, her dialogue with the world. Today, she continues to play—gathering lost things, giving them new lives, and letting them whisper their own stories. The carpule remains at the heart of it all: a silent witness, a building block, a language between her and the world.