A story only comes alive in the mind of the one who looks at it. Memories, dreams and feelings exist without form, and in one mind only. Storytelling gives them a body: written into objects, spaces and figures, they become a shared visual, where someone may recognize a memory that was never theirs as their own.

These works tell a familiar story drawn from an intimacy that was never shared. This raises the question of the role of the artist. Does the viewer want to hear the artist's story, or is the recognition they find themselves more valuable? The longer we look, the less clear it becomes whose story it is, and whether it is mine to tell.