You Get Me began with a desire to follow things wherever they went—to be curious, playful and contradictory, while still searching for a resolve, even if it felt temporary.

The body became the terrain. Drawn from life and pulled apart, its contours loosen into fragments: lines, limbs, openings and edges that shift, repeat and find meanings. For a long time the body disappeared absorbed into abstraction. Now it is finding its way back, not as a truth but stretched, folded and tangled with chaotic proportions and misbehaving limbs.

Emerging from the noise in unfamiliar forms, as though recognition itself has had to be rebuilt, I’m in there somewhere, constantly rearranging myself.

Across the work, that rearrangement becomes a way of finding order within chaos. Shapes interlock, images repeat, surfaces are rubbed back and worked over. Glass distorts what lies behind it, forcing the eye to find the image again.

There is tenderness and fury, control and abandon, beauty and grotesquery. I’m not interested in choosing between them, I want to find the shape that can hold them all.

I’m interested in that uncertainty—the moment a body appears, disappears, then catches you looking.

Look again. It’s all there.

You get me?

You get me.

You get all of me.