My work sits somewhere between sculpture, kinetic art, and environmental installation. Historically, kinetic art often emphasized mechanical precision or technological spectacle, but I’m more interested in quiet movement—motion that is slow, subtle, and almost meditative. In that sense, the work also connects to traditions in land art and environmental art, where natural forces such as wind, gravity, and light become part of the artwork. Instead of isolating a sculpture from its environment, I try to let the environment participate in the work.
The project also reflects something about our contemporary moment. After the pandemic, many of us experienced a strange combination of distance and connection. We were physically separated, yet emotionally and digitally connected across the world. Moonment grew partly out of that feeling—the idea that people in different places could still share a moment of perception. In a way, it reconnects us to nature, but through an artistic language that is also empowered by technology.
My path to this project actually began with materials. For many years I worked with aluminum sheets in sculpture, and I became fascinated by how a rigid industrial material could behave almost like water when it was shaped or suspended in a certain way. After many experiments with thin aluminum sheets, I noticed that even a small airflow could send a metal wave traveling across the surface. That moment changed how I thought about sculpture. Instead of forcing material into a fixed form, I began asking a different question: what if sculpture could move and respond to the world around it? That question gradually evolved into Moonment. Over time, the project expanded into a series of site-specific installations in different cities, each responding to its environment while remaining connected to the larger idea of shared time and perception.
