My work starts with obsession, honestly. I want people to get way too close to it. I want them hovering over the surface, wondering if they should touch it, like they’ve stumbled onto something half alive. Texture and color feel emotional to me — almost bodily. There’s something deeply primal about wanting to explore shadows, strange surfaces, shimmering things. Like finding a wet stone at low tide or the skin of some unknown creature glowing in the dark.

 

A lot of the work ends up looking like fragments of nature from another planet. Organic, alien, seductive. I’m constantly inspired by water moving over rocks, oily rainbows in puddles, shells, slime, decay, bioluminescence, tangled roots, strange sea life — all the weird beautiful stuff the earth casually invents. I love when something feels ancient and futuristic at the same time.

 

Sometimes politics and the general psychic chaos of the world leak into the work whether I want them to or not. It’s impossible to fully separate the imagination from the times we’re living through.

 

The pieces themselves are built through layering and experimentation with all kinds of materials. Painting alone never feels like enough — I’m trying to make objects that exist somewhere between painting and sculpture, like artifacts pulled out of a dream, a swamp, or a spaceship wreckage.