ABOUT ME

I have always moved in images. Long before I called myself an artist, I sensed the world as lines, colours, textures, and invisible currents of meaning. Painting, drawing, photography, and digital work have been different phases of the same journey: a way of giving form to an inner landscape shaped by nature, stillness, and experiences that are difficult to put into words.

Over the years I have worked as a painter, teacher, and organiser, taken part in artists’ collectives and founded art schools and workshops. All of this has formed my eye for form, space, and materiality. But underneath the roles and titles has there always been something simpler and more insistent: a need to listen, and to respond, through images.

Today my practice is anchored in photography and digital image-making. I walk with the camera not to document, but to find a certain kind of presence. I rarely look for the “right” motif. Instead, I wander until a place begins to feel charged – as if there is “something” there. Then the seeing changes. The lens becomes an extension of the painter in me. Light, lines, reflections, fragments of growth, rust, stone and water begin to organise themselves into compositions, stories, and layers I can work with later.

Back in the studio, the process continues on the screen. Photographs and digitized paintings meet each other, are cut up, layered and rearranged. What was once a physical canvas becomes part of a new digital body. I work with transparency, overlays and different modes of blending instead of traditional brushstrokes, allowing light and colour to grow out of the encounter between images. One picture may carry traces of many places and times: a shoreline, an old painting, a shadow, a piece of sky.

Much of my work revolves around our relationship with nature in a time of disturbance and loss. I am drawn to places where beauty and vulnerability coexist – where something is breaking down, and at the same time revealing a strange, fragile radiance. The images are rarely illustrations of specific locations. They are more like atmospheres or states of being: fields where the outer landscape and the inner one touch.

What matters most to me is that the images can open a quiet space for the viewer. A space where you are not asked to understand everything, but to sense: tension, tenderness, unease, belonging, maybe even something sacred. If the work can awaken, for a moment, a feeling of connection – to the land, to water, to light, to the more-than-human world we are part of – then the image has done what it came to do.