My work is less concerned with communication than with connection. I don’t think of my paintings as messages to be decoded or ideas to be delivered. I think of them as sites—places where form, body, and presence meet, often without resolving into clear meaning.

Figures appear throughout my work, but they aren’t portraits or characters. I’m not interested in identity as something expressive or psychological. The body functions more as a structure or an interface—opened, flattened, diagrammed, interrupted. Anatomy becomes a framework rather than a subject, a way to locate tension, access, blockage, and exposure. These figures aren’t meant to represent people so much as states.

There is a spiritual charge in the work, but it isn’t tied to religion or iconography. I avoid established symbols, narratives, and belief systems. What I’m interested in is belief as something mechanical and lived—how it moves, where it stalls, how it presses on the body. Faith, doubt, alignment, resistance, vulnerability—these show up not as images to recognize, but as conditions to encounter.

My process is intuitive and physical. I don’t begin with a fixed plan or a defined outcome. Paintings often emerge through a process of listening and adjusting, allowing the work to reveal its own structure rather than imposing one from the start. I’m drawn to moments where the image feels unstable or unresolved, and I resist the urge to clarify or smooth those moments out.

I’m not interested in interpretation as an endpoint. Explaining the work often feels like it reduces it. I don’t want the paintings to function as answers or illustrations of thought. I want them to remain active—something that happens between the work and the viewer rather than something that passes from me to them.

Connection, for me, doesn’t require understanding. It requires presence. If meaning emerges, it does so quietly, over time, and differently for each person. The paintings don’t ask to be read; they ask to be met.

The work exists whether or not it’s explained.