I’ve always been obsessed with collision, the kind that leaves a mark. Cultures, materials, and ideas all crashing into one another until something new, something truer emerges. I grew up between New York and Taiwan, never fully belonging to either, constantly switching codes, accents, and skins. Maybe that’s why I create the way I do: out of friction, out of the need to make contradiction feel like home.

 

Parsons School of Design taught me how beauty is built, the architecture of fabric, the choreography of image. Venice taught me how meaning shifts, reforms, resists and how art carries memory while questioning what it preserves. Between those worlds, art and fashion, I learned that construction and destruction are the same gesture, just seen from opposite sides of the mirror.

 

My work tears things apart to see what still breathes underneath. I move between art and fashion, between what’s considered precious and what’s thrown away. Each piece becomes a reconstruction, an act of rebellion disguised as elegance.

 

Art, for me, is never still. It shifts, flirts, decays, seduces. It remembers and forgets all at once. I live in that tension, the space where beauty and ruins meet.