My work begins not with a plan, but with a conversation — between my hands, the material, and the moment. I work primarily in metal and wood, drawn to their opposing natures: steel insists on permanence, holds the mark of every weld and strike; wood carries its own history in the grain, warm and resistant at once. These qualities are not obstacles to overcome but invitations to respond.

I do not impose form. I follow what the material offers.

My sculptures emerge through intuition — an accumulation of decisions made in real time, each one building on or resisting the last. The stacked wooden forms grow like improvisational structures, block by block, until the assembly holds something I recognize but could not have predicted. The metal work carries its own logic: circles that orbit without closing, planes that split and curve, surfaces roughened into something like memory or scar.

I am interested in the tension between order and disruption — geometry that strains against itself, structures that appear about to shift or collapse yet hold. There is a kind of questioning built into this: what is stable, what is fragile, and where exactly is the line between the two?

To work by intuition is not to work without discipline. It is to remain open — to the unexpected cut, the weight that pulls differently than imagined, the negative space that suddenly becomes the subject. The material teaches. I try to stay in the position of student.

These objects do not arrive with explanations. They are records of a process that trusted itself.