I bring things that are far away in closer to my body.

Drawing over things is a way to get inside them.

I like secrets, not necessary in their exposure but in their very existence. 

To enter a system, I locate the loophole.

If my subject is made of clay, I will work in clay.

If my subject is text, I may write.

If my subject is too big, I will grow.

If my subject is out of reach, I’ll steal it in a mirror.

Repeating something helps me to perceive it. So does cutting it out.

When in love, I separate a someone from the everyone.

Isolating details is like making bubbles.

An extra becomes the protagonist, after the film is made.

The protagonist disappears; the fact creates a void to be filled by other facts.

Without gravity we end up hovering.

What is considered banal or cliché might be hiding something.

Permission is a material and changes the work’s consistency.