About

From 2012 to 2020, I worked obsessively with machines. I treated them like collaborators, pushing their limits, misusing their settings and hoping to find a hint of humanity inside the code. I made work relentlessly, without pause, convinced that more was always needed. That period was about control and repetition, avoiding the act of feeling. After Covid, everything slowed. That absurdity became a fuel, and I started to let it bleed into the art. I taught myself printmaking, using gouache and watercolour on plates. I layered text, biomorphic forms and fragments of personal history, speaking softly and loudly about the body, tension and the strangeness of being alive. Drawing became an intimacy.

In 2025, I began I want to be a tree, funded by Creative Scotland. I foraged bark and leaves around Juniper Green and the Pentland Hills, shredding and transforming them into new skin-like materials. The work moved outside: by the Water of Leith, up in the wind of the Pentlands. The trees changed how my hands moved. It wasn’t technique anymore, it was a new language. My practice became slower, sustainable, and protective. I thought I was shaping the bark, but it was shaping me, offering a kind of healing. The drawings carry memories, weird nonsense, openness, and uncontrollability.