Torn, thinned, pressed, weighed down — paper is pushed to the edge of its own properties. It yields and resists at once: light enough to lift, dense enough to hold, translucent yet stubbornly opaque, fragile but capable of weight.
Fibers do not simply form a surface; they clash, split, and reassemble. What appears is not harmony, but friction — a constant negotiation between rupture and cohesion. The sheet is no longer given; it is forced into being.
Each work holds these contradictions at once. A surface that tears and binds. A body that hovers and collapses. A structure that remembers its own breaking.