“Painstaking research provides ever-less understanding,
yet ever-more illumination.”1
“For my yoke is [sweet] and my burden is light.”2

A tool; an idea and thing at once. With it, I dig for imperceptible understanding and ignite tangible light.
Imagination. A bond-forging life force that bears the potential of endlessness.
Time is an illusion faced with slow-moving growth. A brown-eyed raven flies me towards the not-so wrinkled brain. He frees me of the muscle-memory of language and compels me to understand by other pearls.
The game of life is a prism, it captures the light and throws colours across the board. 
The die has six identical faces but the rules of the game are governed by randomness. One player holds a trump card whilst another is sent to the dogs, the search-dogs.
The star I cut into the eye’s cornea, casting a broken shadow on the retina. The tip of a broken bone pressed into the flesh. Sweet gushing in blood vessels, rosy cheeks. Heartbeat in a palm on the chest. The pericardium—ozone layer of the heart.
From the fingers cultivates the perception.
Without art, no-one has a sleep-filled night.
Lemon-sour, marrow-bitter, sea-salty yet saccharine yoke of love.
Pain’s sweetness flows across the tongue and caresses the taste buds. The sketch, the image, folded, crumpled, imperfect, fragile, grows internally. Signals, messengers, blood cells, calcium, salt, sugars. The mechanism where one tiny bit, angle, vector, block, letter alters everything.
My visual universe is intoxicated on everyday life, the game of life. It has existential and phenomenological lines. I am interested in how life experiences and setbacks become the source of creative forces in a game that gives purpose to unstable existence.
I search widely for subjects, roaming in memories and premonitions, reading dictionaries, chasing trains of thought, and grasping visions from thin air, which race through the mind in the middle of the night.
Drawing, in two-dimensions but also on three-dimensional surfaces is my main subject. The fourth dimension, time, is a string tempting to pull.
There is still time for sweet understanding and light illumination.