I make when I don’t understand; I paint when I fear forgetting.
I don’t want to lose the moment – whether they’re memories, emotions or people I’ve encountered. My multidisciplinary practice often begins in ambiguity, especially around the idea of identity and what it means to belong. As someone who left his hometown for new permanency, I’m constantly thinking about otherness and the meaning of “home”.
There’s a sense of anxiety in my work, a worry about how quickly things slip away when they aren’t recorded or remembered. I like painting: for me, it is a way to push back against that forgetting. It’s where emotion and memory meet, where images become something more than just representations – they become containers of identity, places where fragments of the self can be found and held.
How do we recognise ourselves? How do we see ourselves reflected in others?
In many ways, my work is less about capturing someone or something, and more about what exists in the distance between reality and its image. That space feels alive to me – fragile, sometimes haunted. Within it, the relationships with my subjects and the places I depict start to mirror something of myself.
