The creatures that inhabit my work have lives of their own.

Some have old souls, as if they have been here for a very long time; others feel newly born. They all have personalities and histories, although some of them prefer to keep their secrets.

I am drawn to the tenderness that persists over time, mysteriously emerging through broken and luminous stories.

I often find myself returning to the same kinds of places and presences: houses, certain creatures, forests, interiors, windows, shelters, small figures, old objects and things that remain hidden. I don’t always choose them deliberately.

They seem to find their way back into the work, slowly forming a landscape of familiar places and presences. Somewhere between the domestic and the unknown, these worlds feel both familiar and strange, discovered and invented.

Working by hand is an almost meditative, magical process for me.

I rarely know where a piece will end when I begin, even if I make a rough sketch. An idea might arrive through a dream, a place, a material, or simply through several elements coming together and knocking at the door before I have a clear thought. As the work develops, one thing can become another.

Small imperfections, unexpected marks and accidents become part of the character of a piece, revealing possibilities I had not anticipated. This uncertainty is an important part of the process, especially when experimenting with different techniques.

Making is part of how I live and how I make sense of the world.

My artworks are primarily available to collectors on my mailing list, The Inner Forest.

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