Proposition

What becomes possible when I no longer cling to thought alone, allowing perception to remain unresolved?

Each day, when I walk into the backyard of my studio and breathe, I find myself entering a space of attunement, not just to the sounds of the forest, but to something beyond sound. I listen for what cannot be heard: the breath of the trees, the trembling of the ground, the weightless current of unseen forces moving through bark, root, and stone. These moments are not spiritual in the abstract. They are deeply physical, rooted in the precise act of noticing.

This is the space from which I work, not a place of certainty, but of question. I do not make art to declare what I know. I make it because of what I do not know. Because looking, feeling, and constructing are how I stay in contact with the vast and unresolved phenomena of being alive.

My work begins in perception but doesn’t end there. It explores the edges of what perception can hold, what it fails to name, what it distorts, what it reveals in fragments. I am drawn to water, glass, light, and turbulence not for their metaphorical properties, but for their physical behaviors. These elements become collaborators, teaching me something about instability, about systems in flux, about the layered simultaneity of the seen and the invisible.

When I photograph turbulence, either manufactured in a studio pumping system, or at the crest of a river rapid, I am not only working to capture beauty or explain flow. I am looking. Deeply. Intently. Repeatedly. The camera becomes a tool for slowing time. A way to witness what would otherwise vanish. From these moments of observation come structures — visual, material, and conceptual — each holding echoes of neuronal maps, urban systems, quantum fields, and the unknowable networks that link all things.

I find myself drawn into the language of entangled systems, where the boundaries between self and world, matter and energy, dissolve into relationship. These are not metaphors, but actual conditions of the cosmos—what I sense, what I observe, what I attempt to give form to.

But I do not claim that these connections are conclusions. They are associations. Discoveries. Evidence, perhaps, that the world is built from nested forms of relationship, each refracting the other across scale and medium. I am not only seeking clarity. I am seeking contact.

In works composed of repeated glass volumes, tanks filled with water and arranged in precise geometries, I am building a stage for conditions. These pieces do not reflect the world back at the viewer in a clean mirror. They disturb it. They multiply it. The fields, buildings, clouds, and trees surrounding an installation appear fractured and rearranged within each prism, layered with one another, refracted into unexpected visual events. This is not distortion for its own sake. It is the invitation to stay long enough for a different way of seeing to emerge.

Often, what emerges for me is not resolution, but a deepening. The more I look, the more I find. The more I find, the less I believe in certainty. My breath slows. Time shifts. I begin to see relationships that exist not just between objects, but between moments, between the inner movement of attention and the outer movement of wind in the leaves.

I have no desire to frame this process in pretense or posture. I live by questions, through the materials I work with, the phenomena I observe, and the structures I create. My studio is a laboratory of direct inquiry, where perception itself becomes the field of exploration.

My foundation of my practice is forming questions. Sometimes sharp ones. Sometimes beautiful ones. Often ones I can’t articulate in language.

If there is a purpose to what I do, it is to remain open. To listen beyond the limits of hearing. To see beyond the limits of sight. And to allow material—glass, water, light, form—to become a medium through which the unknown begins to tremble into presence.

This is not a fixed story, but a living one. And the works I make are not endpoints. They are invitations. Portals, perhaps, into a space where perception begins to dissolve, and something else, something vast, relational, and alive, might begin to speak.