Your work employs collage, displacement, and reassembly—methods often associated with fragmentation. How do these techniques help you express ideas around memory and identity within domestic spaces?
When I make a painting, I’m often thinking about constructing and deconstructing spaces. Sometimes they’re places I’ve known, and sometimes they’re entirely imagined, but the process speaks to the fallibility of memory, which I find really interesting.
Can you walk us through your process when constructing one of your paintings? Do you start with a specific object or memory, or does the composition evolve more intuitively?
Most of the time, I work very intuitively. I usually begin by laying down a few lines or shapes that start to inform the composition, and then I let the painting evolve. The work grows and changes dramatically from start to finish.
You work primarily in oil, yet your compositions often feel sculptural and architectural. How do you think about space and depth in your painting practice?
I always approach a painting as if I’m creating a space; I want the viewer to feel as though they can enter this alternate reality. That’s the fun of working in a two-dimensional medium—exploring how to create a space that doesn’t physically exist is a challenge I never tire of.
In your solo show ‘My Room Is Not My Room’ at The Scholart Selection, curated by Tia Xu, you challenge the room as a stable, personal space. What prompted your interest in the psychological dimensions of domestic interiors?
Like everyone, there have been periods in my life that have felt less stable than others. I often reflect on the spaces that coloured those times and what I clung to in order to create a feeling of stability. Often, that was my room or my bed. It’s so natural and human to seek safety in shelter, so I like to focus on those comforting objects in my work.
How do you see the relationship between objects and identity in your work? Do the curtains, pillows, and plants in your paintings take on symbolic or emotional roles?
I wouldn’t say that these objects are necessarily linked to identity, but rather symbols of comfort. I’m interested in how such objects can evoke a sense of safety, and whether displaying them in abstract or non-traditional ways can alter, or even challenge, that feeling.
Your work raises the question of whether a space can still belong to someone once it’s layered with memory, culture, and perception. Do you see your paintings as a kind of shared psychological architecture?
I do! While I often reference personal spaces from my own life, I love using textures and motifs that are recognisable. I like the idea that the viewer can project their own experiences onto the work and relate to it in a personal way.
In the piece Gold Velvet, the curtain acts like a theatrical drape—part barrier, part invitation. What drew you to the theatrical metaphor, and how does it inform the rest of the show?
I love using curtains in my work because they can take on different meanings depending on the context and the viewer. Whether in our own homes or on a stage, they serve to protect us and keep others out, even if only briefly. Playing with the idea of theatre is always fun and further challenges our sense of what is real.
Domestic objects become visual signifiers rather than utilitarian items in your work. Is there a tension in your work between decoration and function, or between looking and inhabiting?
I’m not sure there’s a direct tension between decoration and function in my work, though I think that’s a central question in design and architectural history, which I find so interesting. At different periods, artists and craftsmen have prioritised one over the other, or tried to marry the two, and I love exploring both sides.
Are there particular interiors—real or imagined—that have left a lasting impression on you and influenced this body of work?
My childhood home in New York is probably the most influential space I reference. Where we spend our formative years is inextricably linked to who we are, and that environment really informed how I approach space and use it in my artwork.
How conscious are you of ambiguity as a strategy? Are you interested in leaving interpretive space for viewers to project their own memories or associations?
Definitely. When I create a painting, I don’t go into it with a fixed idea of what I want the viewer to think or feel. I create spaces that I find intriguing and engaging, and I want the viewer to have their own personal experience with those spaces, regardless of my original intentions.