Figures in States of Transition

This text attempts to articulate the space my drawings inhabit.

I decided to write this not to fix a single meaning, but to open a space—something closer to where the work actually exists.

At the centre of my practice are feminine figures placed within interiors: beds, chairs, rooms that feel familiar, yet slightly off. These are not portraits in a traditional sense. Sometimes they begin from life—a model during a drawing session, a friend sitting or resting. But once the process begins, something shifts. The figure is no longer just that person. It becomes a transformation—something suspended between memory, sensation, and invention.

What interests me is not the identity of the figure, but the state it inhabits.

There is often a quiet ambiguity in these works. The body is present, but not fully grounded. It may be resting, but not at ease. Still, but not stable. I’m drawn to this in-between condition—where the figure seems caught between tension and release, presence and absence, intimacy and distance.

The spaces surrounding the figures are not passive. They press, contain, or sometimes dissolve the body. A bed is not always a place of rest; a chair does not always support. The environment becomes part of the psychological atmosphere rather than a simple setting.

Tension emerges not through dramatic gestures, but through subtle imbalance. A slight distortion in the body. A colour that resists behaving naturally. A line that refuses to fully define. These small shifts suggest that something remains unresolved.

I’m not interested in telling clear stories. I try to avoid closing the image with a fixed narrative. Instead, each drawing holds the suggestion of something incomplete—something unspoken. The viewer enters at a suspended moment, as if before or after something, but never during a clear action.

This sense of transition is central. The figures are not arriving or leaving; they exist in the middle of something undefined. That uncertainty matters. It reflects an internal, psychological space rather than a literal one.

Line and colour are part of this language. At times, the line asserts control, defining the body. At others, it breaks down, allowing the figure to merge with its surroundings. Colour is not descriptive—it creates mood, pressure, and instability. Together, they form a tension between control and its loss.

If there is meaning in these drawings, it is not something fixed—and not something I want to fully resolve. What matters is that they hold a space where different readings remain possible. A space where something feels familiar, yet slightly strange. Where the body is present, but not entirely.