It often starts with a fleeting glance: a cable lying on the floor, a doormat in front of a door, a piece of fabric caught in the half-light. I find myself drawn to these small, seemingly insignificant things, and I photograph them because something about them stays with me. Years later, they find their way back into my paintings, carrying memories of moments when the ordinary suddenly becomes meaningful.
In painting, a curtain often marks a threshold: it conceals something while inviting us to look beyond it. In my paintings, it seems to play this role, but only at first glance. A doormat peeks out from beneath the fabric, an electrical cable remains in view. Nothing is really hidden. Instead, the curtain almost absurdly reveals the very thing it is meant to conceal.
