My work unfolds in layers — of meaning, of material, of memory.
Photography has always anchored my practice, but discovering encaustic felt like finding home. Into that practice came another discovery: Japanese paper. Delicate, fibrous, alive with texture — these papers brought an entirely new dimension to the work. Torn, cut, folded and layered beneath translucent wax, they hold light differently than anything else. They breathe. Their fragility is, paradoxically, their strength.
I think of the photography, printed to Japanese paper and layered with wax as a metaphor for lived experience — how we are shaped by slow accumulation, by what is layered upon us and what we choose to carry forward. The papers arrive with their own histories, their own grain and resistance. Fused beneath the surface, they remain present without demanding to be seen — much like the quieter forces that shape a life.
This current body of sculptural works emerged from solitude and imposed stillness. I turned inward, breaking time into small, manageable fragments. Each piece of paper fluttering, then placed, then fused became an act of both surrender and intention. Weightless materials, held together. Order found within uncertainty. Permanence discovered inside the most ephemeral of things.
