Practice Self-taught painter, working in acrylic. Based in Cambridge, UK.
Current Work Unveiling — a series in progress exploring body acceptance and the transition from girlhood to womanhood.
Availability Open to exhibition opportunities, group shows, and gallery submissions.
My cat paintings exist for the opposite reason — they're just things that make me happy to look at.
Unveiling
A series in acrylic
There's a moment every girl remembers — when the world stops looking at you and starts looking at your body instead. I grew up in silence around that shift: no sex education, no open conversation, a culture that taught me shame before it taught me anything true about myself.
Unveiling is my way of painting through that — the hiding, the loving my body in secret, the quiet plea of my eyes are up here repeated a thousand times over. Part satire, part memory, part reclamation. This is the record of becoming a woman who knows her own body, and finally treats it as precious.
Unveiling: My eyes are above
Do you remember the moment you stopped being seen as a child? There's a specific instant when the world's gaze shifts — when people stop looking at you and start looking at your body instead. This series starts there, in that shift.
I grew up caught between two truths: I liked my body, and I was taught to be ashamed of it. Puberty brought changes that drew attention I didn't ask for and couldn't yet understand. Culture and religion told me that being attractive was something to hide, so I did — I covered up, shrank back, avoided eyes. But quietly, underneath all that hiding, I still loved what I saw when no one was watching.
How many times have you silently told someone, my eyes are up here? This series holds that repeated, unspoken plea. It's satire, it's memory, it's reclamation — my way of painting through what it took to go from a girl taught to disappear to a woman who knows, and owns, her body.
Acryl
10×12 (25×30 cm)
Year
2026
Unveiling: Treat Me as Apple of Eye
I grew up in a world thick with unspoken rules — Islamic tradition, strict family expectations, and a culture where the female body, especially its lower half, was never named, never shown, presented as something you were simply expected to understand on your own. Society and my parents treated it that way — as if the knowledge should just arrive, unasked for and unexplained.
I was lucky, in a way. My grandmother, a woman doctor, took it upon herself to tell me about periods — though even that came wrapped in a kind of secrecy, information passed quietly, like something slightly forbidden rather than simply factual. But periods were where the generosity ended. Exploring my own sexuality, my own pleasure, my own lushlife — that was never mainstream, never spoken of at all.
I always wanted to see it. Not hide it, not apologize for it — see it, the way we're allowed to look at eyes: openly, with care, even admiration. I wanted this part of me to be treated as precious. Educated. Known. Because if I had learned to care for myself that way from the start, maybe I never would have felt abandoned by my own body.
This piece is my attempt to give that part of myself what it never received — attention without shame. To treat it, finally, as the apple of my eye.
Acryl
14×18 (36×46 cm)
Year
2026
Joyful cat
I paint cats. Small canvases, one cat each — but every cat is someone I've actually met.
This series started as a way of holding on to the people I run into living here in the UK: the ones who make me laugh, the ones who make me tilt my head, the ones I'll probably never see again but can't stop thinking about. Instead of painting them as people, I paint them as cats — it's more honest, somehow. A cat doesn't perform. A cat just is whatever it is, in front of you, no apology.
Cat with Beer
Back home, having a beer at lunch on a workday wasn't just unusual — it was risky. The kind of thing that could get you a talking-to from HR. So when I moved to the UK and saw people order a pint with their lunch like it was nothing, it took me a long time to stop flinching. Over a year, actually, before I let myself join in without the guilt sitting on my shoulder.
Cat with Beer is that year, compressed into one small canvas. The cat isn't guilty — it's completely at ease, pint in paw, no consequence looming. It's less a portrait of a person and more a portrait of permission: the moment acceptance finally caught up to the culture around me, and a lunchtime beer stopped being a risk and became, simply, a pleasure.
Acryl
8×8 (20×20 cm)
Year
2026
Cat Squishy
This one isn't about a person — it's about the cats themselves. Cat Squishy is pure feline identity, no human standing behind it: all softness, all gentleness, the quality that makes you want to press your face into a cat and never leave.
It's a small love letter. An appreciation of feline existence on its own terms — the squish, the softness, the simple pleasure of what a cat is.
Acryl
8×8 (20×20 cm)
Year
2026