A woman with short dark hair squats on the floor with a neutral expression, looking directly at the camera. She is wearing nude-colored clothing. The photo includes a torn paper effect, creating a layered, surreal look with internal edges showing tor
A person's face is emerging from a hole in a bed of dry, brown, cereal with only their face visible.
A portrait of a person with messy, curly hair and a beard, with their eyes obscured by a strip of torn brown paper with a printed image of eyes.
A still life arrangement of a green glass, a piece of dried meat, cigarettes, a crumpled cigarette pack, a burnt piece of fruit, a burnt leaf, and a piece of string with a small object tied at the end, all set on a gray fabric background.
A person with short dark hair, closed eyes, and makeup, including dark lipstick, shown in a close-up portrait with a soft light and background.
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A woman and a child are sitting at a dining table covered with a blue cloth. The woman has yellow yarn wrapped around her face and arms, and the child is leaning on the table. The background is a plain, textured wall.

2025–ongoing

Chariot explores the narratives we inherit about our bodies and the ways they shape how we see ourselves.

Growing up in the 1990s and 2000s, I absorbed a culture in which the female body was something to be measured, scrutinised and corrected. Placed on my first diet at eight years old, I learnt early to see my body as a problem to be solved. These ideas became so familiar that it was difficult to recognise where they came from, or imagine myself without them.

Now, as a mother raising a daughter, I find myself returning to these experiences, questioning what has been passed down and what might be passed on.

Through staged photography and the physical manipulation of images, I explore the distance between the body we inhabit and the one we imagine we should have. Photographs are printed, fragmented, altered and reconstructed. The process itself becomes a means of questioning what I see, taking apart familiar representations and imagining what might exist in their place.

But what if these inherited ideas are not truths at all, and what if the body was never something that needed fixing? Who decides what is beautiful? What might become possible if we could imagine it differently?

Perhaps I was a warrior in a previous life. And my high androgens and insulin resistance were how I survived. My body, shrouded in shame for as long as I can remember. Perhaps it was my chariot.