So much about art remains a mystery to me. As Rilke wrote, works of art are mysterious existences whose life endures alongside ours. In the studio, my aim is simply to create the right environment, set parameters, work away, and make space for something meaningful to emerge. My process involves careful preparation and patient waiting, punctuated by pleasant surprises when something almost magical occurs. It is extraordinary how tiny the difference can be between a mediocre painting and one that possesses what Patrick Kavanagh called "the flash". It is never entirely a matter of intention; there is something else at play that I cannot control, but can only welcome. Like a haiku, I try to make my paintings as succinct as possible, eliminating anything extraneous. Yet, my work is expressionist rather than minimalist. I see my pieces as diary entries rather than cold, formal exercises.

Having studied meditation rooted in Buddhism, this practice naturally informs my work. Repetitive mark-making is a central part of my process — a visual form of mantra making, or that which protects the mind. By working in this rhythm, I am able to paint in a state of relaxed attention.

Working primarily within a fixed 20.5 x 13.5 cm format, I embrace the freedom of a scale that demands no grand studio - only a kitchen table or a traveling bag. This constraint allows for rapid experimentation where the stakes are low but the intimacy is high.

My work draws inspiration from the compact, poetic economies of Kurt Schwitters, Paul Klee, and Forrest Bess, as well as the spiritual focus of old Russian icons and Persian miniatures. Much like the philosopher Simonides noted that "painting is silent poetry", I view these small-scale pieces as visual haikus. They hold the tactile, nostalgic presence of well-worn paperback books, offering the viewer an invitation to lean in close and experience art as a quiet, private dialogue.