What does your piece represent to you?
“Against the Current” (koi fish) To me, healing isn't just about the outcome; it’s about the journey. It's uncertain. It's exhausting. It requires showing up day after day without knowing whether you're making progress. More than anything, healing has felt like an act of blind faith: continuing to move forward even when you can't see what's ahead. I chose koi fish because they symbolize perseverance and resilience. Rather than depicting them as flawless, I wanted them to carry scars and missing scales, representing the reality that healing doesn't erase what we've been through. We continue carrying our experiences, but they no longer prevent us from moving forward.

The dark water represents uncertainty. It isn't meant to symbolize fear or despair, but the unknown; the parts of healing where you can't see the bottom, don't know where you're going, and have no guarantee that your efforts will pay off. Yet the koi continue swimming anyway. The arteries of the heart become currents, transforming the anatomy into a pathway. The fish move through the heart itself, suggesting that healing isn't something separate from us; it's a journey that happens within us. Finally, when Erick repairs the heart using kintsugi, the gold will become part of the story. The repaired cracks won't erase the breaks; they'll honor them. The sculpture will remind us that healing isn't about returning to who we were before. It's about carrying our scars with us and continuing forward with strength, resilience, and faith. At its core, this piece asks viewers to consider a different definition of healing: not as becoming perfect again, but as choosing to keep swimming, even when the water is dark. Healing is continuous.

What does your piece represent to you?
“Enough Light” (moonflower) Healing is often imagined as reaching the light; becoming whole, finding peace, or finally arriving at the end of a difficult journey. My experience has been different. Healing has required learning to move forward long before I could see where I was going. It has been an act of faith more than certainty. The moonflower became the perfect symbol because it doesn't wait for daylight to bloom. It unfolds in the darkness, responding to a light it cannot fully see. It trusts that the night is enough. The surrounding fireflies represent the small moments that guide us through uncertain seasons. They don't illuminate the entire landscape or reveal what lies ahead. Instead, they offer just enough light to take the next step. To me, healing is also about courage. It asks us to face the parts of ourselves we'd rather avoid; our grief, fears, uncertainty, and pain. We often wait for the darkness to disappear before believing we're ready to heal, but healing rarely works that way. It begins the moment we choose to step into the unknown anyway.

The darkness in this piece isn't meant to symbolize hopelessness. It represents the unknown; the future we cannot yet see and the fears we cannot always control. Rather than running from it, the flower continues to unfold, and the fireflies continue to glow. Together they remind us that courage isn't the absence of fear. Courage is choosing to keep growing while fear still exists. This piece invites the viewer to reconsider what healing looks like. Sometimes healing isn't waiting for life to become clear. Healing isn't waiting for the darkness to disappear. It's trusting there's enough light to keep unfolding.

What would you say to someone who is struggling right now?
I would tell them that they don't have to see the whole path to keep moving forward. There will be moments when healing feels impossible: when you're exhausted, when you can't see any progress, and when you question whether all the effort is actually making a difference. I know what it feels like to want some kind of guarantee that things will get better before you take another step. But healing doesn't come with guarantees. Sometimes, all you can see is the darkness in front of you. And sometimes, the only thing you can do is trust yourself enough to take the next step anyway. You don't have to be fearless. You don't have to be strong every day. You don't have to know where you're going. You just have to keep swimming. And if you can't swim today, that's okay too. Resting doesn't mean you've stopped healing. Being scared doesn't mean you've lost your courage. Having a difficult day doesn't erase all the distance you've already traveled.

I would also tell them not to measure healing by how closely they resemble the person they were before they were hurt. Sometimes we spend so much time trying to become who we used to be that we don't recognize the person we're becoming. Your scars are not proof that you failed to heal. They're proof that you survived something. Healing may not mean becoming whole in the way you once imagined. Sometimes it means learning how to carry the broken pieces differently. It means allowing the cracks to become part of your story instead of spending your life wishing they had never happened.
And maybe most importantly, I would tell them this: You do not have to see the light at the end of the road to believe there is a reason to keep walking. Sometimes healing is simply trusting that the small amount of light you have right now is enough for the next step. You don't need to know what comes after that. Just take the next step. Then the next. And when the water is dark and you can't see what's ahead, keep swimming.