My practice moves between installation, image, and object, treating each as a different register of the same question: how does a space hold what we remember, and how does memory, in turn, reshape the space we stand in.
I am interested in the threshold where perception falters — the moment a room, a photograph, or a found object stops being simply itself and becomes a container for something absent. An installation is never only the materials assembled within it; it is the residue of a body that once moved through that room, and the anticipation of another body that will move through it next. In this sense, space is never neutral. It is always already inhabited by prior use, prior looking, prior loss.
Images function at a different scale. A photograph or projection freezes a moment of perception, but in doing so it also distorts it — flattening depth, isolating a fragment, asking the viewer to complete what has been withheld. Working with images lets me interrogate how memory itself operates: selectively, imperfectly, always already an edit.
Objects, meanwhile, carry memory in their surfaces — wear, repair, displacement. I am drawn to things that have been used, moved, or altered, because they resist the fiction of a single, stable meaning.
Across these mediums, my concern remains constant: attention. I want to slow the encounter between a viewer and a space, an image, or a thing, so that perception itself becomes visible — not as a given, but as something constructed, contingent, and shared.