When people are depicted in photographs and paintings, we get to observe them and freely stare at them without their resistance. Artists try to subvert this power dynamic, but it can’t be done without removing the figure. The viewer always has the upper hand. This is what’s so difficult about depicting the human body in art for me. As a result, my work became motivated by a question: How do I depict a lived body instead of an observed one? In truth, this question is a paradox, a source of tension and humor in my work.
As the world changed and my thinking shifted, I came to understand the idea of a lived body as something inherently social. Even when we’re physically alone, we exist within a social context and affect each other. We have a collective body. My work reversed: instead of painting to depict, I now paint to summon our collective body. Painting has become a ritual. I start by pouring diluted ink onto sheets of polypropylene. Once the ink dries, I respond by painting on top of its random textures and forms until they appear planned. I make choices that prioritize attraction, repulsion, laughter, and shared recognition. Through these interventions, the most accidental element of the painting—the poured ink—begins to feel familiar and relatable on a gut level, reaching beyond the gaze and tapping into something more visceral, something that we share.