The artistic practice develops through painting, collage, assemblage, and the manual manipulation of materials such as paper, thread, fabric, old wallpaper, embroidery, and worn everyday objects. Their materiality and capacity for transformation are central to the process: materials are removed from their original function, displaced, and acquire a new presence.

Collage operates both as a method and as a way of thinking: as an encounter between fragments that are foreign to one another. Cutting, tearing, removing, and reconnecting disrupt expectations of wholeness and perfection. Similarly, in assemblage, different materials and images coexist while retaining their discontinuities, contrasts, and distinct qualities. The reuse of an old piece of fabric, a fragment of wallpaper, or an embroidery thus becomes an act of transformation and care.

The process of making is slow, repetitive, and insistently manual. It often begins with a violent gesture: scissors cut, remove, and fragment. The fragment is then reorganised. Thread is wound into small skeins that function like pixels; fabrics are interwoven in a way that recalls the childhood craft of weaving with strips of cloth; surfaces are perforated and activated by light and shadow; elsewhere, fabric is immersed in cement, acquiring new weight and an unexpected rigidity. Making thus moves from fragmentation to connection, and from the violence of the cut to the slow time of reassembly.

The same process of fragmentation and recombination extends to the imagery. Hybrid human and animal forms draw on references from mythology, art history, and medieval bestiaries, where real and imaginary creatures coexist. These forms unsettle the certainty of a clear boundary between the human and the animal, redirecting attention towards vulnerability, interdependence, and coexistence.

An important reference is Eugène Ionesco, particularly Rhinoceros, where the absurd reveals the human condition without attempting to explain or resolve it. Similarly, the fragment is not regarded as the remnant of a lost whole that needs to be restored. It can remain a fragment and, through its encounter with something foreign, generate a new relationship.

The slow and repetitive process of making ultimately creates a time of pause. Winding, cutting, weaving, and the transformation of matter impose a different rhythm of making and looking, within which the gaze can slow down before something fragile, strange, or uncanny.

This pause is not inactivity. It is a time of attention and care.