Does the passing time really stay behind us? What kind of faculty is Memory? Can Childhood be a continuous time to which we have access by immediacy? What if Reality is but that slight tearing of memories, the sudden and fleeting appearance of something that can only be evoked, without ever really being grasped?
Working through assemblages of photography and oil painting allows me to wander into the ramifications of these questions. Photography as a play between immortality and contingency. The oil intervention as the unpredictability of the gesture inscribed in it, activating accidental deviations.
So Life, freed from Form, becomes fantastic matter of invention.