About Me

There are two kinds of people in any creative room: the ones chasing the idea, and the ones making sure the idea survives contact with reality. I've spent my career learning to be both.

By day, I'm the Director of Operations at Frontend Arts Inc. — the person behind the curtain who turns bold plans into finished work, on time and without the wheels coming off. It's a job built on quiet discipline: the schedules nobody sees, the decisions that keep a hundred moving parts moving in the same direction. I'm good at it because I understand something most operators don't — I know what it feels like to be on the other side of that curtain, waiting for the structure to hold so the art can happen.

That wasn't always the plan. Long before schedules and structure became my language, I was a full-time practicing dental surgeon — a career built on precision, steady hands, and years of training. Then life asked for a different kind of steadiness. When my husband's work took us abroad, I made the choice to move with him and our then seven-year-old, first to the UK and later to the US, so our family could stay together. Leaving a surgical career behind wasn't easy, but it opened a door I didn't expect — the space to finally chase the creative instincts I'd carried quietly for years.

That's where the writer, director, and singer in me found room to breathe. I write scripts. I direct drama. I sing. Each one is really the same act wearing a different costume: taking something formless and giving it a shape sharp enough to move an audience. A script starts as a blank page and ends as a room full of people who forgot to breathe. A song starts as a feeling with no name and ends as three minutes that everyone in the room somehow understands. Directing is the strange, thrilling job of standing at the center of both — turning words and performers into a single held breath.

When I'm not writing, directing, or singing, I'm usually painting or dancing — not as hobbies exactly, more like maintenance. Painting slows my mind down until I can hear it again. Dancing does the opposite; it burns off everything logical until only instinct is left. Between the two, I stay tuned to the same creative frequency that runs through everything else I do.

I don't think precision and art are opposites. Surgery taught me to trust my hands under pressure; operations taught me to hold a hundred moving parts steady; art taught me what all that steadiness is actually for. It's the same skill, pointed in different directions — the ability to look at chaos and see the shape it wants to become. That's the thread running through every role I've had: surgeon, operator, director, singer, painter, dancer. Different tools, same obsession.

If you're here because you want someone who can bring order to ambition without draining the life out of it, you're in the right place. That's the work I love, and it's the work I do best.