Portfolio
Layered paintings, soft shapes, hijacked wallpapers, laser-cut puzzles — each series invents its own rules and sticks to them.
Paintings
Stacking layers, painting them in strata.
Masking tape sets the scene, the airbrush sets the mood, the patterns pile up and the paint does the rest.
Organic forms, melted into the middle, wrapped in a thick line that scratches the surface. Each layer has its part: some step forward, others pull back, and transparency binds them.
And the printed fabric rises back to the surface — its flowers, its checks slipping in among the painted forms without ever falling into line with them. Decorative languages that share the canvas and pretend to agree.
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Badaboom
Puzzles, stood upright.
First the outline — a clean black line marking off the space like the soft panels of a comic strip. Then the layers: shapes cut out, set down, precise.
Between them, printed fabric slips in — unlikely motifs, flowers, polka dots. Fragments of memory that linger under the paint. A puzzle is a riddle; puzzled is to be thrown, at a loss. Both speak of the same fragmentation — images that never come back to us whole. Memory in pieces, scattered, made of unlikely associations, of bits that don't quite fit together.
And then comes the Badaboom. A spray-paint splatter, a polka-dot star, a gesture that breaks the rigour of the assembly. An attempt to fight off the fading.
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Shapes
The picture has puffed up.
Fabric stretched over volumes, hung on the wall like a painting — except the painting has been digested by the frame, it has swelled. The bulging form catches the light, the patterns hug the relief. Here the stitching does the frame's job, and the paint spreads across volume.
Turn your head and the gradient slides, the colours shift key. Step back and the raking light hollows out the shadows. Come closer and the patterns start to dance.
A Form: a surface that won't sit still and moves with your gaze.
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Against a background of
The wallpaper is no longer a backdrop, but a stage.
A living room under a bell jar, where everything seems frozen in waiting, amid the floral, the gothic, the damask.
Soft, living forms, like jellyfish washed up on a reef of well-behaved patterns. Not a clash but an embrace: the familiar takes in the intruder, this foreign body laid over the established order.
A gentle little sacrilege, one that respects the background and lays itself over it, nonchalant. Just enough for the wall, as if nothing were the matter, to start murmuring another story.
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Pop Up
The surprise has already happened, and everything stayed up in the air.
Forms held in suspension, like a pop-up book left open forever and never closed again. The cut-outs unfold in layers, the prints settle on top. A serious apparatus in the service of a single jolt.
They take up space, cast their shadows, reveal themselves in slices depending on where you stand. Head-on, it's an image; from the side, it's a mechanism as precise as a roll of the dice.
Stacking, cutting, balance hold it all up. The rest is the tipping point itself, frozen inside a frame.
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Hi Ha!
Where my canvases stay in the sign, these images tip over into the figure.
Whole scenes, overflowing, where too much happens at once. I give the starting signal, I describe, I push again, I reframe — and out comes something I'd never have painted by hand. Large formats, printed and hung on the wall like the other canvases.
Hybrid creatures, restless crowds, objects doing what they shouldn't. A comic-page surrealism drawn at full saturation, in garish colours. Obsessive detail, depth of field — all of it in the service of the most complete absurdity. A fabulous bestiary run through the digital washing machine.
I'm not after mastery but after the cracks. I hold the reins, but the beast does the rest. Hi Ha: off we go at a gallop, having never really learned to ride.
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