My work emerges from a single question: What is real? Both in the philosophical tradition of abstraction, and as an, urgent confrontation with the forces shaping the human experience — the rise of artificial intelligence, the revelations of quantum physics, and the ancient ache for spiritual meaning.

Artificial intelligence, as a concept, haunts my practice. Not as a utility, but as a philosophical provocation. The idea that pattern can masquerade as understanding, that a system can produce something that feels like intuition without possessing it — this unsettles me in productive ways. My work asks what it means to be a thinking, feeling, mark-making human in an era that is rapidly blurring those definitions. The machine becomes a conceptual foil: by contemplating what it cannot have — a soul, genuine wonder, the trembling hand — I locate more precisely what I am trying to preserve and illuminate in my own work.

Quantum physics taught me that mystery abounds and that there is still so much we don’t understand about the universe we inhabit. It is a rich subject for inspiration, and I love the idea of superposition; that a particle holds all possibilities until the moment of observation/measurement. I like to think that all of my work lives in a metaphorical superposition — containing many meanings simultaneously, collapsing into one only when a viewer enters the room and looks. The audience doesn’t receive the work. They complete it. This is an organizing principle behind the visual decisions I make — the unresolved edge, the image that creates meaning depending on the time in which it is viewed and the individual viewing.

My practice draws on the visual vocabulary of both scientific and spiritual questions. Both are attempts to find order inside chaos, to locate meaning inside the infinite. I query the space between those words, where the honest questions live. To be a visual artist now is to reckon with what it means to be irreducibly human and what a machine can never be.