I make work to try to bring order and clarity to a scattered mind — attempting to perceive the world with a logic that feels constantly out of reach.
I'm a British-Turkish, working class, queer artist. The tensions between these identities are the engine of the work: passing and not belonging, speaking in different voices depending on context, quarrying the intersections of multiple selves. I visualise what I find difficult to vocalise — that sensation of complete disconnection from the world that feels uniquely personal yet must be universal.
I began making live art and stopped for twelve years. That gap — forced, not chosen — is present in everything I make now. Coming back in 2021, I've worked across painting, sculpture, installation, video and socially engaged practice. The performative has never left; it's embedded in the gesture of making.
My practice is built on recycling, regeneration and repetition — returning to material again and again, sometimes over years, to rediscover what it might mean in new orientations of time and space. I investigate archives of images, language, labour and desire as sites where identity is constructed, performed and assigned value. The questions that recur across the work are always versions of the same ones: who is seen, who is paid, what gets passed down and what gets erased.
Alongside the intimate, introspective studio work — which I think of as a kind of soul work — I have an expansive socially engaged practice, making collaborative works with marginalised people who don't consider themselves artists. Currently touring nationally is One Song, a co-created audio-visual installation with women who have lived experience of migration, at The Art House, Wakefield and Fabrica, Brighton in 2026.
I'm self-taught in the fine art mediums I now employ. I'm at a point in my practice where I'm asking whether coherence across different modes is the goal — or whether the productive tension between them might be more honest to the experience of multiplicity itself.
I'm a British-Turkish, working class, queer artist. The tensions between these identities are the engine of the work: passing and not belonging, speaking in different voices depending on context, quarrying the intersections of multiple selves. I visualise what I find difficult to vocalise — that sensation of complete disconnection from the world that feels uniquely personal yet must be universal.
I began making live art and stopped for twelve years. That gap — forced, not chosen — is present in everything I make now. Coming back in 2021, I've worked across painting, sculpture, installation, video and socially engaged practice. The performative has never left; it's embedded in the gesture of making.
My practice is built on recycling, regeneration and repetition — returning to material again and again, sometimes over years, to rediscover what it might mean in new orientations of time and space. I investigate archives of images, language, labour and desire as sites where identity is constructed, performed and assigned value. The questions that recur across the work are always versions of the same ones: who is seen, who is paid, what gets passed down and what gets erased.
Alongside the intimate, introspective studio work — which I think of as a kind of soul work — I have an expansive socially engaged practice, making collaborative works with marginalised people who don't consider themselves artists. Currently touring nationally is One Song, a co-created audio-visual installation with women who have lived experience of migration, at The Art House, Wakefield and Fabrica, Brighton in 2026.
I'm self-taught in the fine art mediums I now employ. I'm at a point in my practice where I'm asking whether coherence across different modes is the goal — or whether the productive tension between them might be more honest to the experience of multiplicity itself.