The drive to make things is not a choice.
For me, it is a metabolic fact & the canvas is the least destructive option available to me.
I consider my work as an act of perceptual vivisection. I work a form until it achieves the uncomfortable stillness of a tautology. Until it simply is, without apology or explanation. The emptiness you encounter in my work is the negative space left by everything I refused to allow. I think that refusal is the most violent gesture in contemporary art.
The 'non-existing' demands. It reaches into the viewer and pulls out whatever they were trying not to think about.
My practice is defined by an unrestricted engagement with materials, where their inherent properties determine their use. The method is an iterative cycle of building and breaking down, with the final object serving as a record of that process. I consider time an active element in the work. I impose no prior limitations on location, treating any environment as a potential context for my work.
I have never made anything with my hands that my hands invented.
The hand is a translator. A clumsy, beautiful, occasionally catastrophic one, but a translator nonetheless. The idea precedes it by miles, by years, sometimes by an entire life lived in preparation for a single moment of clarity that the hand then fumbles and somehow, inexplicably, gets right.
Ideas have a half-life. They decay. The entire history of art is a graveyard of concepts that died of repetition.
I am not interested in taxidermy.
The object is not the point. What interests me is the specific intellectual pressure required to force something that didn't exist into existence. The moment that pressure becomes impossible to generate authentically, I will stop.
To continue making work after the capacity for genuine thought has been exhausted would be the only real obscenity I can imagine. Production without necessity is just sophisticated landfill.
