I build layers.
Plaster bandages, modeling paste, pigments, sometimes pine needles. The surface grows slowly — solid and open at once. Between the layers, space remains for light to breathe.
In my earlier series Under the Layers, I was breaking through — scratching, revealing, searching for what was hidden. Now the movement has changed. I am in the material, in the truth, in the silence. I no longer uncover — I build. I trust that what is meant to be seen will emerge on its own.
Each layer is an act of listening, a quiet conversation between matter, light, and breath. I find what is imperfect, and I let it stay. The cracks, the uneven edges — they hold what is real. The pain does not disappear; it keeps me searching. And somewhere within, the truth rests — still, waiting, already whole.
In the Layers is a process of courage and tenderness — a slow unfolding toward what is pure, toward what wants to come to light.