I have always been drawn to the idea that something beautiful can come from what already exists. Collage found me before I had a name for it: tearing things apart, keeping what felt right, arranging and rearranging until the image said something I could not say any other way. It is still how I work today, both with paper on my table and a file open on my screen. When I work with paper, I slow down. I go through old magazines, printed photographs, scraps I have been holding onto for months without knowing why. There is a particular satisfaction in cutting by hand, in committing to a shape and gluing it down knowing it cannot be undone. That permanence matters to me. It makes every choice feel real.

Digital collage lets me go further and faster, but I try to bring the same patience to it. I still search for the right fragment, still feel the same pull when two images click together in an unexpected way. The screen gives me room to take risks I might hesitate over with scissors and glue, and I have learned to love that freedom without relying on it too much. I share both kinds of work here because they come from the same place in me. Analog and digital, slow and fast, fixed and adjustable: they are two ways of asking the same question, which is what happens when you put things together that were never supposed to meet. I am still surprised by the answers, and that surprise is what keeps me making.