Storytelling lies at the core of my practice. Through it, I create objects and parallel universes that offer alternative ways to engage with complex real-world issues — moving between the practical and the conceptual, between analysis and intuition, always leaving room for imperfection and spontaneity.

One of those threads, over time, became time itself. Time entered my work through lived experience — understanding its weight, how the lack of it shapes the way we care, for others and for ourselves. Reclaiming it, through slow making and recovered materials, became a quiet form of resistance.

I am no longer just reclaiming time.

I am learning to hold it differently.

That need is still present, but softer now. Something has shifted. The wound that opened this inquiry has done its work, and I find myself in a different place — less certain, more curious.

I favour low-tech, traditional techniques. Each handmade piece becomes a meditative ritual — more in sync with human rhythms than the pace the world tends to impose. I work with recovered materials, guided by the belief that care means nurturing potential. Even discarded objects carry stories and possibilities, waiting to be rediscovered.

I am learning to reconnect — more slowly, more gently, on my own terms.