You will find a collection of my physical Artworks on this page
Door of a Thousand Echoes
Door of a Thousand Echoes is a portrait of memory’s fragility disguised as familiarity. A distorted print of the artist’s childhood bedroom door is rebuilt from thousands of collected photographs—each fragment a modern record of a moment never truly lived again. A real handle invites the viewer to reach out, only to discover that recollection slips through the fingers: when we remember, we don’t access the past, we revisit the memory of it—already bent, softened, rewritten. In an age where documenting is effortless and endless, more images do not anchor us to truth; they amplify the distance. We do not remember the door—we remember the remembering.
Golden Hymn
Golden Hymn invites the viewer into a ritual of touch, belief, and consequence. A gilded egg rests before a hammer, waiting to be sounded. When struck, the egg rings—its voice activated through pressure sensors that stretch the resonance as more participants join in. Community strengthens the tone, each impact adding to a shared chorus. Yet with every tap, the delicate gold leaf fractures, its surface splintering under collective devotion. The work holds a tension between the intimacy of personal action and the weight of communal faith: the louder the shared belief, the more fragile its idol becomes. Echoing Nietzsche’s call to “sound out idols with a hammer,” Golden Hymn asks whether our ideals endure through reverence—or only reveal their cracks when struck.
Home
Home is a quiet body with a pulse. A box-like form houses an LED screen and embedded microphones that listen to the surrounding space; when sound is present, the interior shifts into amber light, its glow swelling like a heartbeat. The work pushes a simple, unsettling question: is home a fixed structure, or a state of mind that ignites when we feel heard, witnessed, or safe? The sculpture behaves like a living entity—responsive, reactive, and sensitive—suggesting that belonging is not built from walls, but from the subtle signals our brains recognize as rest.
Weight of Names
Weight of Names is a portrait that refuses to be silent. Rendered on a large scale, the drawing of George Floyd becomes a surface of mourning and resistance. Beneath the darkest tones, every shadow holds a name—1,146 individuals killed by U.S. police in 2020—woven into the graphite like ghosts of interrupted lives. The portrait’s gaze reflects the moment of Floyd’s suffocation: a quiet frame of brutality mirrored back at the viewer, impossible to look away from and impossible to fully bear. The piece speaks to how violence multiplies in memory—how one man’s final breath became a symbol for many—and how grief, when acknowledged collectively, can transform from a statistic into a human pulse. It asks whether we can see the person not only at the center of the image, but all those who vanish in its shadows.
Trace of Progress
Trace of Progress maps our relationship with technology across time. Found footage from the 1950s to the present—advertising, promises, futures once imagined—unfolds as the viewer approaches the screen. Ultrasonic sensors track their movement, revealing and concealing images in real time, turning navigation into a form of authorship. The piece draws a line through decades of invention, hype and aspiration, suggesting that innovation is never a neutral march forward: it advances through us, shaped by how we move, what we desire, and what we seek to become. In Trace of Progress, technology is not a distant force, but a mirror—reflecting the footsteps of those who walk toward it.
Trace of Progress
This work revisits Lucio Fontana’s iconic gesture—the cut—not as an act of destruction, but as a channel for something living beneath the surface. Layers of traditional canvas sit over an LED source that responds to sound in the room. As audiences approach, speak, or move, the light intensifies or recedes, revealing subtle variations of glow through the slits. The cuts become membranes rather than wounds: edges where the physical record of painting meets the invisible systems of contemporary technology.
Becoming Dust
Becoming Dust turns language into living matter. Audience members enter text, which is transformed by AI into an image—then dissolved into a particle field that joins a growing constellation of human input. With every new contribution, more particles gather and respond, shifting and expanding in rhythm with the sounds within the installation space. The work frames AI not as a passive tool but as a collaborator, absorbing human intention and returning it as pattern: scattered, unstable, and continually reshaped by presence. As particles merge and disperse, they echo a deeper question—what does it mean to create in a world where individuality becomes data, and data becomes a shared, mutable landscape? Becoming Dust suggests that our future with machines is neither fixed nor distant, but born from the constant exchange between voice, image, and collective breath.
Monolith of Interference
This work borrows the silhouette of Kubrick’s monolith—an object of silent authority and unknowable origin—and reimagines it through the lens of contemporary communication. The circular aperture echoes the camera of a smartphone: a single, unblinking portal through which our lives are constantly framed, recorded, and broadcast. From its center, familiar phone sounds are recomposed into a disruptive audio field. Anyone attempting to converse on either side of the sculpture finds their speech fragmented, drowned, and dissolved. Here, technology does not extend connection—it fractures it. The piece visualizes the paradox at the core of digital culture: the device we carry to stay close becomes the barrier that keeps us apart. The polished, minimal exterior promises sleek futurism, but its sonic interior reveals interference, overload, and distortion. It asks: in a world of perpetual communication, how much of our attention is actually surrendered—silently—at the altar of the monolith we built ourselves?
Trace of Progress
This projection begins with the clarity of a 3D-scanned face—hundreds of points forming a recognizable human presence. As sound gathers within the space, those points tremble, smear, and drift outward, until the portrait erodes into a field of noise. The work turns the body into a cloud of data particles, each one audio-reactive, each one vulnerable to the pressure of the surrounding environment. The piece visualizes a condition of contemporary life: individuality dissolving under collective volume.
Touching the Circuit
This installation re-stages the suspended gesture of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, but instead of divine spark, the audience encounters a custom-made controller. Pressing into Adam’s outstretched hand does not animate a human soul—it activates a 3D microchip, glowing in the digital void. On its surface, a screen generates a new, AI-produced fact about microchips and the internet. Each activation adds another line to an ever-lengthening archive, an endless litany of technological self-knowledge. The work positions information as the new theology. What was once a moment of cosmic creation becomes a ritual of data accumulation: a gesture repeated over and over, building a scripture of circuitry. The audience’s desire to “know more” feeds the system, expanding it, thickening it, accelerating it—until the list itself becomes the artwork, a living proof of our hunger for information and our complicity in its production.