About the work

There is a kind of clarity that only happens at the wrong scale. The world gets too small, or too big, and suddenly you understand. Like finding a miniature door in a full-sized wall, or seeing a single cell magnified into an entire landscape. Then the small thing, or the vast thing, becomes what it never was: a diagram, an argument. This delicate, almost impossible balance on the white plate, against the humming of a fan, under the dying light, feels like that kind of clarity, that wrong scale. A whole world of cracked earth, of immense dry patience, somehow now resting on a paper plate, itself waiting, not quite in the present.