I work with silences—the ones carried in the body, the ones history has enforced, the ones women inherit without asking. Stoic silence is not absence; it is a dense architecture of endurance, a vocabulary of pauses, a rebellion disguised as composure. My art translates this quiet into visible form, so the unseen weight becomes impossible to ignore. It matters to me because I too have lived inside these hushed rooms, where voices are measured and gazes are rehearsed. But it matters to the world because silence is never neutral—it mirrors power, culture, and survival. In drawing it out, I question what society chooses to mute and what it forces to speak.