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At a time when images can be generated and reproduced with increasing speed, I return to a fundamental question: What does it mean to draw?

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For me, drawing is not merely a means of representation, but a way of entering into a sensuous relationship with the world. Shifting light, wind, temperature and scent leave impressions that gradually settle into memory. At times, these fleeting encounters evoke a poetic resonance and subtle shifts in feeling. Such experiences are difficult to define or possess, yet they quietly shape how we perceive and inhabit the world, becoming part of the embodied experience from which my work emerges.

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I come from a background in drawing. Over time, needle and thread have become my drawing tools, allowing the line to move beyond the surface and enter into a more complex relationship with material and space. My practice unfolds through stitching, piecing, stretching, layering and folding textiles. As the needle carries thread through the material, tension gathers across the surface, folds redirect the course of a line, and the plane opens into space. The material does not simply receive the gesture; it responds to it. The same movement never produces precisely the same line.

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This reciprocal relationship between body and material lies at the centre of my practice. Each gesture encounters a different resistance, and each repetition introduces subtle variations. Repetition is therefore not a means of producing sameness, but a process through which difference accumulates over time. What remains visible is the trace of a movement, while the time, bodily experience and sensory memory from which it emerged can never be fully seen.

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For many years, I have explored the threshold between the visible and the invisible, between what can be articulated and what remains beyond naming. I do not approach these qualities as fixed oppositions. Rather, I am interested in how different states of being can coexist without losing their distinctness. Form emerges through this coexistence, as a temporary convergence of perception, memory, movement and material.

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Hand stitching and machine stitching offer two distinct temporalities within my work. The sewing machine allows for spontaneous, improvisational gestures, while hand stitching unfolds through a slower, sustained attention, stitch by stitch. Neither process is subordinate to the other. Their different rhythms allow speed and slowness, spontaneity and accumulation to remain present within the same artistic enquiry. The needle becomes a drawing tool, the thread a line, and the textile a space in which drawing continually explores new possibilities.

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Improvised piano playing is another important part of this artistic enquiry. While drawing leaves a visible trace of movement, music allows the passage of time to be experienced through sound. Both involve listening and responding to what emerges, rather than following a predetermined form. Through a long-standing collaboration with a pianist, I have continued to explore how drawing and music can resonate with one another while retaining their distinct modes of expression and temporalities. Rather than seeking a direct translation between the two, I am interested in their shared openness to rhythm, variation, composition and unforeseen change.

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A completed work does not mark the end of drawing. Light and shadow continually alter the appearance of stitched lines, folds and surfaces. As the viewer changes position, relationships between line, material and space shift, allowing the work to be encountered anew over time. What has taken shape through one bodily experience becomes open to others, without requiring a single interpretation.

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I understand drawing as an ongoing encounter rather than a fixed image: a process through which the time of an encounter with the world leaves its traces in material, while remaining open to what cannot be entirely seen, named or possessed.