We spend our lives chasing perfection. The perfect home. The perfect timing. The perfect version of ourselves. But if you’re lucky, you wake up one day and realise: perfect is broken.
It doesn’t breathe. It doesn’t bend. It doesn’t ask questions. It just sits there — finished, polished, and utterly disconnected from what it means to be human.
My work isn’t about perfection. It’s about process. Layers built on moments of doubt, instinct, curiosity, and sometimes chaos. It’s about the freedom to leave something unresolved — to let a line go too far, or a colour take over — and still call it finished.
Because that’s where the soul is. In the friction. In the flaws. In the parts that almost didn’t make it in — or shouldn’t have — but somehow hold it all together.
If you’re looking for art that’s perfect, keep walking.
If you’re looking for something real, you might be in the right place.