Creating in a Time of Crisis
I’ve never been one to make overtly political art—but these days, silence feels like complicity.
As an artist and a woman whose heritage is tied to both settlers and Indigenous peoples of the American Southwest, I can’t ignore what’s happening in this country. The rise of authoritarianism. The normalization of cruelty. The erasure of truth and history. I’ve seen these patterns before—in history, in stories passed down, in places I’ve lived, and in nations that lost their way.
Infrared photography is my way of revealing what most people don’t see. In a time when reality is constantly distorted, that feels more vital than ever.
My work is rooted in land and memory. It honors the sacred. And in doing so, it stands against everything this political moment threatens—our environment, our humanity, our democracy.
I don’t photograph to escape. I photograph to endure.
To resist erasure.
To remember who we are.
To hold space for grace, even when grace feels like a radical act.
Art has always played a role in times of darkness. It documents. It heals. It dares to hope.
And so I will keep creating—not in spite of what’s happening, but because of it.
