Bit by bit…

A lot of my collages emerge from my thoughts on how we, as humans, offer ourselves piecemeal. A gesture here, a half-finished story there. Small revelations that fold back into themselves. And also how we tend to piece things together. Like when you recognise someone from just their walk, or know a whole story from a single gesture caught in peripheral vision. We're always filling in gaps, aren't we? Making sense of partial information, building complete pictures from scraps.

In breaking images apart, I found they began to breathe differently. In rearranging them, they speak of things unexpected. Each fragment becomes a conversation about what is revealed, what is withheld.

Then there are the gaps. The tiny spaces between pieces. The pauses. The breaths. The part where your brain does that little magic trick of completing what isn't there. Those gaps are where stories live—not the stories I'm telling, but the ones you're creating as you look.

Visibility isn't binary. It arrives in degrees, in angles, in the quality of light we allow to fall across ourselves. We're all walking around as unfinished puzzles, dropping pieces as we go. Some get picked up. Some get lost. Some were never meant to fit in the first place.

There is a particular quality to incompleteness that feels more honest than any whole. This incompleteness we mistake for knowing.