My work begins with the human figure—not as a subject to be captured, but as a scaffold. There’s a rhythm I fall into when sketching with the figure that holds the painting together, not always physically, but conceptually. It gives shape to questions I’m still trying to understand: questions about presence, recognition, and memory. Sometimes the figure dissolves into the canvas; sometimes it lingers, barely visible, whether consciously felt or not. 

I see the painting as a way of responding rather than resolving. It isn’t an answer; it’s an opening for me. I'm drawn to the act itself—sometimes building, sometimes destroying, often circling back. I start with a thin wash of paint, letting the surface breathe before covering it with more visible gestures. Layers are added, then taken away. I return to washing out, adjusting, and building again. The figure is a tool I return to because it creates space for tension, wonder, and ambiguity. It holds the potential for eye contact, for being seen, and for looking back. The human form gestures in many directions: inward toward emotion, outward toward the world, or beyond form entirely. It invites multiple readings, often conflicting ones. That kind of layered curiosity is what draws me in.

The figure is my favorite brush. Symbols, numbers, cultural references—these are means, not ends. What matters to me is the interaction between the visible and the invisible, between clarity and uncertainty. I’m interested in the in-between: the quiet scaffolding beneath what we think we see.