Only through the making do I look in. Not a looking predominantly with my eyes, a looking with my body, ending and beginning with my hands or more precisely my finger tips and thumb. Both hands working together in a repetitive, cathartic, rhythmic motion. Twisting from the wrist and elbow and producing objects that are more about being, than being seen. Frozen moments in time.
I produce objects that may make you stop and stare out of curiosity and inquisitiveness, slightly confused, bemused, unnerved perhaps disturbed by its uncanny nature, its relentless resistance to conform.
Its position is unfixed, both grasping out at the world and bound to itself, caught as if in a game of ‘cat and mouse’ yet with nowhere to hide, from the inevitable and perpetual anxiety, only the humour can save you.
