awkward at parties


2025
felt zine
polyester felt, embroidery floss
[dimensions] 9 ⅞ × 7 inches (unfolded); 2 ¾ × 3 ⅝ × ⅝ (folded) 

A zine about being awkward in social situations, painstakingly and lovingly embroidered by hand. The text reads, “I’m drawn to your strangeness / I see myself in it / I’m still in the corner waiting to turn into someone new / or am I finally pretty enough to be cryptic but still accepted? / I’m fond of your habits / I think we’re likeminded / I’m still on the sidelines weaving narratives and social scripts / will I ever be practiced enough to feel like I know what I’m doing?” 




 peq
bed


2025
soft sculpture 
polyester felt, acrylic/rayon/wool blend felt,
embroidery floss, polyester fiber fill
4 ½ × 4 ¼ × 8 inches

I broke my ankle in January 2025. Trimalleolar fracture, syndesmotic rupture with contusion of the superficial peroneal nerve. Of the many debilitating pains I’ve endured because of this injury, one of the most heartbreaking was losing the quiet comfort of being in bed. 

Bed is one of my favorite places. Bed is a place of rest, intimacy, vulnerability. On my worst days and in my worst seasons, I’m supposed to have the solace of curling up under the covers, positioning my body just right, and collapsing. 

After surgery, especially during the first few months, I was considerably limited in how I could position my body. I had to elevate my leg well above my heart to reduce swelling. I couldn’t sleep on my side (and I’m a stubborn side sleeper). I couldn’t bear any weight on my right side; I wasn’t even allowed to put pressure on my right heel. I couldn’t just lay or sit down anymore, and every movement was painfully choreographed. If I wanted to shift, I had to slowly adjust my body part by part, then ask for help adjusting the 3-7 pillows under and around me. 

I spent many nights in bed crying, waiting for the pain medication to kick in or the exhaustion to take over. No matter what I did how or many times I tossed and turned, I was deeply and desperately uncomfortable. 

 peq
bed
is an interactive sculpture about this specific pain, loosely modeled after my actual bed. It’s like a bunk bed but so much less functional. It’s made of felt and stuffing, and I sewed everything by hand. It’s floppy and unstable like my ankle was. No matter how you toss or turn it, its contents will never be fully settled. 




open house


2024
3D pop-up zine
magazine clippings, cardstock paper, liquid glue 
4 ⁹⁄₁₆ × 4 ⁹⁄₁₆ × 3 ⅜ inches (open); 2 ⁵⁄₁₆ × 3 ⅜ × ¾ inches (folded)

I tend to be procedural; I like to create outlines, identify factors, map out contingencies. This means I’m often (over)prepared for situations, which allows me to feel more present by the time I arrive. I sometimes feel so overwhelmed that I fixate on the plan and never reach the destination. 

So I practice. I practice acknowledging my fear, letting her stay, having a conversation with her instead of shutting her down. I let myself plan, but I also check in with myself — is this still helping me, or am I acting out of panic, trying to regain a sense of agency? 

Practicing emotional vulnerability inherently requires risk. I will never be able to run away from my fear of rejection, nor should I try to; she’s part of me, and she holds some of my heaviest and most visceral pain. She deserves to be in the room even if she only feels safe enough to watch from a distance, at least for right now. 

open house is about cultivating internal intimacy and inviting people to know you as you are. The text reads, “I want to feel known, but what if I take up too much space? Healthy is unfamiliar, so avoidance seems safer than opening the door. Do you want to come over? Even if I’m not good at this yet?” 




picnic goods


2023
jean zine 
scrap denim, embroidery floss
6 × 4 ¼ inches (unfolded); 2 x 2 ¼ × ½ inches (folded)

Various snacks embroidered on scrap denim. Fold it up to make a zine; lay it flat to set up a mini picnic.