My work begins with a quiet observation—of light slipping across a wall, of paper curling at the edge, of how a small fold can change everything. I’m drawn to moments that feel both delicate and charged: when the familiar becomes unfamiliar, and something ordinary starts to hum with meaning.

Photography, for me, is about listening. I work with simple materials like paper, film and reflective surfaces that are shaped into small interventions that I photograph using natural and manipulated light. The process is intuitive and fun. I experiment with how light moves, how shadow cuts, how color appears where it shouldn’t: How an image reveals itself. They are quiet negotiations between touch and illusion, where paper behaves like paint and shadow becomes part of the composition.

I am curious about a kind of perceptual shift: of being unsure what the camera is “seeing” and when I find myself drawn in by it. Like that edge between recognition and abstraction—where meaning is soft, unstable, and open.

These images aren’t planned out or pre-designed. They’re the result of paying close attention, of trusting quiet decisions, of allowing imperfection. They’re small gestures that might otherwise go unnoticed—and the sense that even a shadow or tear can hold emotion, memory, or presence to create space—for stillness, for ambiguity, for feeling something that can’t quite be named.