​My computer doesn't like mornings. Every morning when I log into Zoom, my computer freezes, capturing me in unexpected, unguarded moments. I had to laugh and cry when I realized some of these frozen frames were revealing art—spontaneous documentation of the self I never intended to show. I called them #zoomfreezeselfies.

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This became an ongoing collaboration between myself, Zoom, and my unreliable computer. I never know at what point technology will betray me, freezing my image mid-gesture, mid-expression, mid-vulnerability. I just go about my business and whatever happens, happens. The lack of control becomes the point—these images capture moments of authentic self that exist outside of performed identity.

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When I was younger I hated photos of myself. My art practice is about facing fears and refusing to care what anyone else thinks. These freeze-frame collaborations are not pretty, but that is precisely the point. I'm putting my true self out there—crossed eyes, double chin, big nose, morning face, all of it. Each frozen moment becomes an act of radical honesty, a refusal to hide behind flattering angles or careful staging.

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The series functions as accidental performance art, where technology's failure becomes a tool for revealing truth. In a culture obsessed with curated digital personas, these glitched self-portraits offer something different: uncontrolled visibility. I've come to look forward to these morning collaborations with my computer, never knowing when it will decide to freeze me in a moment of unguarded existence.