If you want to know my method

I have a fascination with peculiar stories told too completely, yet I lean more towards things that utterly refuse narrative. For me, art is not some triumphant progression; it exists solely in the fissures and interstices of human behavior. Or perhaps, it is the sum of all trivial acts—depending on the language you choose to define it.

For a long time, I was compelled to seek the "standard answer" for metaphors. Later, I realized my true interest lies in what the system omits—the uncorrectable code glitches. That is my only refuge.

I cherish memories that find material embodiment in reality. Like the sound of my grandmother’s wooden fish clashing with my mother’s prayers—an inelastic collision within a narrow living room. To me, that was not faith, but a form of invisible debris, taut with tension. I once dreamed of being a detective, but now I function more like a Digital Archaeologist: I explore the "theological garble" spat out by logically incompatible doctrines, or scavenge the beach for a plastic shard encased in a crust of salt.

I utilize digital media, yet I resist its inherent lightness. I torment code with an inverse understanding, attempting to force these immaterial logics to bear the heaviest paradoxes. Sound and smell, like pixels, are mechanisms for evoking memory. I crave the piercing wind of dawn, and the fictional chill it leaves as it penetrates the digital screen.

I come from a small, lost, and fractured world. Others call it "collective memory" or "local history," but I see it merely as a sequence of simple, repetitive actions. We do it again; we say it again. I strive to remain dialectical, yet in the act of creation, I hold an irreverent, binary decisiveness towards such rigor.

In this utilitarian world, I only wish to construct "useless" fossils that breathe. I do not seek answers; I only observe the invisible wind that stirs the ripples.

Video from  the  project “ Rising Strate ”