My work does not copy what is already visible.
It makes visible what is not.
Much of it revolves around machine states: switches, alarms, protection modes, containment, recording devices, body loggers. Systems that observe, store, warn, inhibit. These are not metaphors added later. They are internal realities that found a form.
The work is a form of self-observation. A recorder turned inward.
What is inside me becomes legible through images.
I am not interested in spectacle. I am interested in what operates quietly: internal alarm states, survival logics, the way a body archives experience without asking permission.
One of the central pillars of my practice is miniature.
Miniature as method.
Miniature as instinct.
Miniature as scale reduction in order to survive perception.
Shrinking landscapes, shrinking worlds, shrinking oneself enough to be able to hold the whole. Certain places affect me deeply because they already appear like models: compartmentalized, precise, almost unreal. Landscapes that look as if they were shaped deliberately, like a constructed terrain rather than something accidental.
This goes back to childhood. To the sandbox.
I spent a long time there. Longer than was considered appropriate. I built cities, terrains, water systems, fortifications. Entire worlds small enough to be overseen, altered, repaired.
I left the sandbox around the age of thirteen or fourteen. Not because the work was finished, but because I was told it was.
Everything since then has been a long detour.
What I am doing now is finishing that work. With adult means, adult memory, adult risk. After many near-accidents, narrow survivals, wrong turns that somehow did not end me, this remains the only task that feels structurally necessary.
I am not interested in anything else in the same way.
The work is imagination labor, but not as escape. As integration.
New inner territories are entered not to flee reality, but to make it inhabitable.
If this looks obsessive, it is because it is.
If it looks repetitive, it is because repetition is how systems stabilize.
This is not therapy.
It is not illustration.
It is not documentation.
It is the continuation of an instinct that never stopped operating.