Who am I but a slave to culture? With no purpose in life but to be poisoned by it, I’m wetted, dripped, smeared, smothered, filtered and layered. However nothing is ever profound, it’s just layers within layers, surface over surface. Remove it all and I’m still without essence. I’m a fake an appearance in resemblance to a previous image embossed in a canvas, seen on the streets or perhaps in your memory: Although, the content of the paintings is not strictly feminist it deals explicitly with the female anxiety of living in a patriarchal society. Politically biased towards the advancement of powerful female iconography, I am particularly interested in stimulating the cultural arena for our first female president. Make the public aware of prevailing sexist attitudes that have jeopardized women’s aspirations to the White House and that without which would make her future as leader in North America possible.