It didn’t read as an object in the usual way. It was more like a condition—light, accumulation, atmosphere. At first, it felt almost immaterial, like there wasn’t much to hold onto. But the longer I stood there, the more precise it became. The edges weren’t really edges, the surface wasn’t fixed, and depth kept shifting depending on how I looked.
What struck me was how intentional it was without feeling overdetermined. It wasn’t telling me what to see, but it was clearly structuring how I was seeing. My attention slowed down. I started to notice small shifts—density, brightness, the way the piece seemed to gather and disperse at the same time.
That moment stayed with me because it made something clear: the work wasn’t just there to be looked at—it was built with an awareness of the viewer. It anticipated that kind of sustained attention. In a way, it felt like it was looking back—not literally, but through how precisely it held me in place.
That’s something I’ve carried into my own work. The intention isn’t just in the composition itself, but in how that composition will be encountered. The work isn’t complete until that exchange happens.
What I hope my work invites is a similar shift—where looking slows down and becomes more deliberate. Not to arrive at a single reading, but to stay with the experience of seeing as something active, something that’s being shaped in real time.
A work is built through a set of formal relationships—proportion, alignment, adjacency, interval—but those relationships don’t settle into a single reading. Edges register, then slip. Intervals hold, then open. The composition remains slightly in play.
The work is fully intentional but not fully resolved. It anticipates the viewer. It’s structured with the awareness that it will be seen, that its relationships will be tested in real time. In that sense, it doesn’t simply receive attention—it returns it. It looks back.
That reciprocity is central. The viewer isn’t outside the work; they’re implicated in it. Looking becomes part of the structure itself.
What I hope the work does is make that condition felt—that seeing is not one-directional, but relational. The work holds its form, but it also holds the viewer within it, just long enough for that awareness to register.
