Needle noodling
From my teenage years, when I first began sketching on paper, I realized that art is the wordless
language of the soul — a means to express hidden emotions and the silent whispers within.
Since then, my hands have always been engaged in creation, often without any prior plan or
design in mind.
Lately, my creative path has been shaped mostly through sculpture — a world of order,
proportion, and precision. Yet, despite my deep affection for it, there are moments when this art
form cannot contain all that I feel.
There are times when I must create instantly — without boundaries or rules.
That was where the story of stitching began.
Without expecting it, a storm rose in my life.
And precisely in those days and moments when I was living through the most desperate version
of myself, I took refuge in stitching — something I had neither learned before nor had any
experience with.
Without any pattern or plan, I sewed, and in every line and knot, a portrait of my inner self began
to emerge.
Gradually, I realized that in the search for a lost identity, I had devoted myself to a craft long
intertwined with the lives of women throughout history.
In these stitches, among the threads and fabrics, I found a peace that became my liberation.