My work catches the tension between memory and material, presence and absence. I am drawn to what lingers below the surface —echoes, impressions, gestures suspended just before they are lost. A breath held taut, a faint imprint, a shadow hooked by labour. These traces become anchors of a quiet insistence, where invisible work—of hands, of memory, of care—leaves its subtle drag.

I think of making as an act of remembering, not to restore what is lost, but to acknowledge its outline. Each piece is a gesture of attention, a way of staying with the almost-gone: the fine scratch of polish, the softness of a repeated phrase, the silence that follows effort. These are moments of resistance. They invite the viewer to slow down, to notice, to drift in the uncertainty of what cannot be fully hauled in.

In this way, the work becomes a form of care—persistent, patient and unresolved. A holding space for what has passed through. What remains isn’t always the catch, but the attentiveness of staying tethered to what flickers and slips away.