My paintings begin where the signal falters. Where a gesture fails to arrive cleanly, and space thickens with the residue of what almost happened. I work with oil and acrylic across surfaces that act less like windows and more like grounds: layered, interrupted, pulled across, pressed into. The image is never fixed; it lingers, resists, dissolves, accumulates.

What draws me in are the conditions of emergence. How a mark becomes legible, then slips away. Sometimes it’s a flare of color that breaches a dark field. Sometimes it’s the drag of paint through mesh, a filtration that slows the gesture into fragments. These aren’t just techniques. They’re thresholds. I’m interested in mediation, in what stands between the body and the surface, the thought and the form. Window mesh, for instance, doesn’t just distort. It translates, interrupts, and delays.

The work isn’t about abstraction as ambiguity, but as refusal. Refusal of efficiency, of resolution, of image as something consumable. I think with ideas from Georges Bataille and McKenzie Wark, with formlessness, excess, and the possibility of non-ownership. A painting, in this sense, isn’t an object—it’s a condition. A space where time doesn’t pass cleanly. Where looking becomes a kind of attunement, and stillness becomes active.

I’m not trying to represent anything. I’m trying to stay with the instability, to build a space where presence and disappearance are not opposites, but part of the same slow rhythm. A surface that hums even when silent.