This work is process-driven and a sensuous experience. A day in the studio often begins and ends with making paper.
After soaking pieces of abaca fibre, I put it through the blender in batches; hands plunging in and out of a deep pan of warm, pulpy water, pulling the screen up and laying it onto insulation foam. As I lift the screen off the surface, a new sheet of paper greets me with it's imperfections. I marvel at how thin I can get them. The repetition is meditative and acts as the threshold both into and out of my creative zone.
As the sheets of paper dry, I turn on an electric frying pan to melt chunks of beeswax I chisel from a large block. The smell permeates the room, further delighting my senses. While the wax melts, I may sit at my sewing machine to assemble multiple sheets of paper together, or pull out some pens and draw.
It's interesting, I think, that many of my tools are domestic objects.
It's through the exploration of materials that forms emerge. As I begin painting melted wax onto paper, something kicks in—I am propelled at a visceral level. Deep in my belly an amorphous mass grows and tries to take shape through my hands. I've tried to understand it and the best I can explain it is here.