Something stays with me. A small irritation, an inconsistency. Or a feeling that should be there is absent.

It is a wild web of people, gestures, statements, sounds and actions. I experience and observe at the same time. Strands contradict each other and can be true at the same time. I want to understand “it”.

My material is what leaves an impression: texts, excerpts from books, articles and songs, notes, remarks, scenes. While working, I turn to individual strands. Layers surface.

What takes shape – drawing, painting, object or space – is worked and reworked: painted over, written on, folded, pierced, torn, cut apart and reassembled. With every intervention, I put the work at risk and provoke a new situation that I have to respond to. Nothing is finished or final.

I search for certainty and find layers. The deeper I drill, the denser the uncertainty becomes.

Writing moves, condenses, loses its legibility. It tips – line and writing at once.