It usually starts when I’m looking at the floor. I am drawn to what has already fallen: insect wings, dust, torn paper, words that have slipped out of their original sentences. My practice is a kind of archaeology of the minimal, paying attention to what is almost nothing and asking what type of memory it can still hold. These findings are themselves a medium by which death or fertility is noticed, either through the reduced, unchanging evidence of periodic death or the acknowledgement of the fecundity surrounding us.
I make art because I am afraid of forgetting and fascinated by how things return. I grew up close to theater, watching my mother and grandmother rehearse and memorizing entire plays just in case one of them forgot a line. That urgency of repetition, how a phrase becomes a line, and a line becomes something you carry in your body, still shapes my practice. Today that rehearsal continues with objects and language: I set small residues and bits of text into motion to see what happens when they are asked to perform again.
Most of my work unfolds through photography, installation, and sculpture. I begin by collecting and loosely cataloguing small residues: dust from a room, insects on spiderwebs, handwritten notes and marginalia from second-hand books. From there I build arrangements where these traces can appear again, altered by light, scale, or movement. In earlier pieces I used photograms to turn dust into star fields on mirrored surfaces; recently I built kinetic installations with motors, miniature ceiling fans, and cut-out words mounted on boxes or rods. The fans circulate air and dust, but they also circulate language, spinning words until they are barely legible, or only readable at certain moments in their orbit.
Found language has become a central material: underlined sentences, marginal notes, news, headlines, pages interrupted by erasure. The exhibition space becomes a kind of stage where language, matter, and viewers move in and out of sync, never quite aligning for long.
Through the act of spinning, creation and deterioration I explore the relationship between the traces of everyday life and disappearing matter, the quiet arrangements of the mundane.
