I bring things that are far away in closer to my body.
Drawing over things is a way to get inside them.
I like secrets, not necessary in their exposure but in their very existence.
To enter a system, I locate the loophole.
If my subject is made of clay, I will work in clay.
If my subject is text, I may write.
If my subject is too big, I will grow.
If my subject is out of reach, I’ll steal it in a mirror.
Repeating something helps me to perceive it. So does cutting it out.
When in love, I separate a someone from the everyone.
Isolating details is like making bubbles.
An extra becomes the protagonist, after the film is made.
The protagonist disappears; the fact creates a void to be filled by other facts.
Without gravity we end up hovering.
What is considered banal or cliché might be hiding something.
Permission is a material and changes the work’s consistency.