My work begins with observation — the tide pausing before it turns, the space at the horizon, the moment an inhale becomes an exhale. Working predominantly with ink, I follow these small shifts rather than describing the landscape itself. Each painting becomes a record of attention, allowing marks to appear, soften and sometimes disappear. I think of them as quiet anchors within a space — reminders to slow down enough to notice what is usually passed over.

Listening Lines

Listening Lines is my current body of work. The paintings grow from sustained observation of quiet phenomena — tides turning, wind moving across a surface, the horizon holding distance, the rhythm of breath. I am less interested in describing these elements than in the subtle moment when they change.

Working primarily with ink, I allow marks to emerge slowly. The material resists certainty; it spreads, softens and sometimes disappears. Because of this, the process becomes collaborative rather than controlled. Each painting records a sequence of attention — where the line ceases, where a line pauses, where negative space becomes active.

I think of the work as an exploration of thresholds: the point between movement and stillness, presence and absence, intention and release. These are often the moments we pass over, yet they shape how a place or experience is felt. By reducing imagery and slowing the pace of making, the paintings hold these small transitions long enough to be noticed.

The resulting works are quiet, but not empty. They are intended to sit within a space without demanding it — offering a place for the eye to rest and the mind to settle. Rather than presenting a landscape, they invite a way of looking: attentive, patient, and receptive to change.

Listening Lines is an ongoing practice of returning to these conditions. Each piece is not a conclusion, but a continuation — a trace of a moment held briefly but asserting nothing, simply allowing it to be seen.