I work with the body at the point where it starts to slip. Where form shakes, bends, opens. Paint moves with it, crossing back and forth between figure and abstraction, testing how much a body can take before it collapses or turns into something else.

Earlier works approached the figure obliquely. Bodies leaked into space, mutated, wandered off their edges. Color was loud and vivid: acid blues, greens, sharp tones moving outward, refusing containment. Space stayed open. Identity kept shifting. Nothing held its shape for long.

Over time, that distance has narrowed. The room has closed in. The palette has darkened. Black settles and won’t leave. Red keeps beating through the surface. The figure no longer drifts, instead it’s captive, contained, held under pressure.

Process is the ritual. It’s physical. It`s messy. I build the image and tear it down: dripping, pouring, painting, covering it up, scraping it back. I keep going until something resists or until something breathes.

The paintings don’t resolve. They hold tension. They ask to be felt first, like a hit to the body, before the mind catches up.