I was 5 years old when I met my match. I reached into the toy bin and pulled out a tangle of plastic necklaces and bracelets. The day before, my mama had walked in and reminded me to put my dress-up stuff away neatly. 
“Meredith…” she warned. 
“Okay, okay, I know,” I said. I knew everything. 

I stared it down, furrowing my brow. The knot was dense, obscure, incomprehensible. Loose strings spilled down the sides of my wrist, their beads clacking together softly. It was both unrelenting and undone. Two things can be true at once. 

I pulled at it from every direction, which only made it worse. I cut some strings and tried to separate the beads. Worse still. Anything I undid was somehow redone. I rolled it between my palms, hit it with stuff, and threw it across the room. But I didn’t throw it away. I put it back in the bin and pretended not to care. I cared a lot… I had something to prove. 

One day, I stopped fighting it. It no longer seemed like a problem that needed fixing. It didn’t piss me off anymore. I began to see the complexity in a different light: enigmatic, unruly, and unapologetic. I started to love it. The knot wasn’t a mess; it was a mirror. 

My work is a collection of knots—emotional, perceptual, and relational tensions with no easy answers. I use self-portraiture, symbolism, and illusion to unravel identity, memory, and connection. My process is intuitive – not to resolve, but to reveal.