Art as an Act of Contact.

I don’t make art to explain the unknown. I create conditions in which I can encounter it.

The unknown is not simply a territory you enter. It is something you attempt to establish a relationship with.

I approach art as a practical instrument—a means of addressing the world rather than merely representing it. My practice is rooted in the possibility that something beyond my conscious intention may respond.

Some of my works begin as prayers, invocations or talismans. Others are attempts to acquire a particular quality, influence a situation, or establish contact with something I cannot fully understand.

I work with a personal language of symbolic correspondences.

In this personal language, colours are emotional forces; lines, shapes and forms carry intellectual and masculine qualities. Materials are selected not only for their physical properties but for what they bring into an operation.

Fire may introduce an element of transformation. Earth and dirt introduce their own qualities. Red wine and salt may become agents of fermentation. Gold carries a solar association. Asemic writing sometimes functions as an instruction or invocation, rather than something intended to be read.

These relationships are not a universal code. They belong to a symbolic language that has developed through my practice.

The process resembles an alchemical operation.

I begin with an intention, bring together particular elements and initiate a transformation. Some material effects are familiar and predictable. Others surprise me. I welcome this uncertainty because it introduces something that cannot be entirely planned.

I believe an artistic operation can sometimes affect reality beyond my own psychological experience. I may later recognize external events, signs or circumstances that seem connected to the original intention. At other times, nothing recognizable happens.

I do not need a guaranteed result to justify the attempt.

Completing the operation is meaningful in itself.

Sometimes I repeat a process in a different way. Sometimes I destroy the artifact. Sometimes a painting or object survives.

When it survives, it begins another life.

Years later, I may no longer remember the intention that brought an artwork into existence. A title may preserve a fragment of its original purpose, but often the object has become simply an abstract image or material artifact.

The works I choose to exhibit are those that retain their visual or experiential force. They do not require the viewer to know the private operation from which they emerged.

More recently, my practice has extended into experimental film, artificial intelligence and other systems capable of producing unexpected responses.

A machine may reconstruct a world it cannot see, transform a handmade image into an unfamiliar visual language, or interpret the history of a game.

These encounters are not equivalent to magical invocation. They have identifiable technological processes. But they introduce new questions about intention, interpretation, authorship and the authority we grant to an apparent response.

Across these different activities, I remain interested in the same fundamental possibility: establishing conditions in which something unexpected can enter the work.

Art is not merely a means of representing the world.

It is a way of entering into a relationship with it.