Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about instinct, not as impulse, but as a form of care.
I work by not fixing things too early. By allowing distraction, movement, sleep, other conversations to interfere. If something comes back after all that, it carries weight. If not, it was only noise.
Nature, for me, is not belief or symbolism.
It is syntax. Something readable.
Figures appear long before they act or explain themselves. They arrive as postures, as load, as balance problems. Meaning distributes itself over hands, weight, negative space. Not as narration, but as structure.
If I fix something too early,
I betray what is not finished showing itself.
This way of working keeps the instinct fresh.
Not fast. Not productive.
But precise enough to last.