Art resists definition. Perhaps that is part of its nature. It exists somewhere between what is seen and what is felt between the object before us and whatever it awakens within us.
Some call it beauty. Others search for meaning. Yet art never seems to belong entirely to either.
While sculpting, I often think about how differently we experience the same work. Something that deeply moves one person may leave another completely untouched. Our understanding of beauty is never neutral; it is shaped by memory, culture, experience, history, and everything we carry with us.
So perhaps creating something that speaks to everyone is impossible. Perhaps it is a mirage.
There are artists who turn inward, creating from a private necessity, unconcerned with whether the work is understood. Others reach outward, hoping to communicate to be seen, heard, or recognised through what they make.
I don't believe one approach is more truthful than the other.
For me, art exists somewhere in the tension between them: the solitude of creation and the desire to be understood.
This tension becomes particularly present when I sculpt.
I am drawn to simplicity. I want the surface to remain quiet sometimes almost silent while beneath that simplicity there may be layers of memory, questions, contradictions and untold stories.
The process becomes one of reduction.
I remove, simplify and distil, not because there is little to say, but because there is too much. I want to reach a point where only what is necessary remains visible, while everything else continues to exist beneath the surface.
A kind of labyrinth contained within a simple form.
I don't expect everyone to understand what I intended. In fact, I am increasingly unsure whether understanding should be the objective at all.
What matters more to me is that someone feels something.
Perhaps they recognise something I placed there. Perhaps they discover something entirely different something belonging to their own memory rather than mine.
And perhaps that is the moment when the work is no longer entirely mine.
Something passes silently between the object and the person standing before it.
Nothing needs to be explained.
Yet something has been said.
That is when the silence of art begins to speak.