My work is driven by a question: How do I depict a lived body instead of an observed one? Since depiction requires an observer, the question itself is paradoxical. This creates tension and humor in my practice. I learned about the perils of depiction many years ago during my photography studies, when I analyzed countless images of bodies that are meant for observation. The more these images reduced a human body to a physical form, the more I wanted to humanize the subject. Today, my work still addresses images, but I approach the question through painting.
My process begins with diluted ink that I pour without an image in mind. Once the puddle dries, I respond by painting on top of its accidental textures and forms until they begin to seem intentional. I make choices that prioritize attraction, repulsion, shared laughter, and recognition—experiences that are both uncomfortable and enticing at the same time. When I combine poured ink with carefully planned rendering, the ink looks more alive, fleshy, and real than the painted additions. Visual recognition turns into something more visceral, and the most accidental element—the ink—begins to feel relatable, reaching beyond the gaze with an uncanny familiarity.