There is Nothing There

There’s something between two musical notes, something more than the absence of sound. There’s a space between two grains of sand, a tension between every inhalation and exhalation.
Every emptiness evokes fullness and only becomes tangible in that realization. How almost everything seems to exist by the grace of its opposite is something that never bores me.
The art object as a beacon. As an expression of protest against living without meaning and ultimately dying. Signs, markers, someone must be able to find us when we’re gone.
My father was extremely present and then suddenly absent. Very absent. All his work remained behind like a kind of snakeskin. I loved that man dearly and experienced early on what it feels like to miss someone with whom you felt such a deep connection. The person who seems so strong and then turns out to be as fragile as anything else. His works seemed to anticipate that disappearance.
In my work, you see situations that reveal absence. You see objects that must have been left behind by people. Yet these objects still seem to hold something of the last intention conveyed. They are markers that betray a certain purpose, like charged traces of human action.