Drawing, like my sculptural practice, is an encounter with transformation—a negotiation between destruction and repair, presence and absence. Each time I put pencil to paper, I step into the river, but it is not the same river, and I am not the same man as Heraclitus stated. Each drawing marks the approach of a different self, shaped by the shifting currents of time, memory, and experience.

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The tip of the pencil is the locus of balance, where opposing forces; control and surrender, force and fragility; find their resolution in flow. Here, destruction is not an end but a threshold; each line a scar, a remnant of movement, a trace of change. Just as my sculptures bear the evidence of breakage and repair, my drawings hold the tension of becoming; never static, always unfolding in flux.

Drawing, like my sculptural practice, is an encounter with transformation—a negotiation between destruction and repair, presence and absence. Each time I put pencil to paper, I step into the river, but it is not the same river, and I am not the same man as Heraclitus stated. Each drawing marks the approach of a different self, shaped by the shifting currents of time, memory, and experience.

‍

The tip of the pencil is the locus of balance, where opposing forces; control and surrender, force and fragility; find their resolution in flow. Here, destruction is not an end but a threshold; each line a scar, a remnant of movement, a trace of change. Just as my sculptures bear the evidence of breakage and repair, my drawings hold the tension of becoming; never static, always unfolding in flux.