Chapter one
The hands, never the face
There is no portrait on this page. The work is the likeness.
A practice
It started with a habit rather than an idea: not being able to throw things away. Newspaper, tailoring offcuts, bottle caps, a shop sign someone had leaned against a wall to die.
The material dictates the form. A sculpture is finished when the waste stops arguing.
Nothing leaves the studio in a series. Every object is made once, signed once, and photographed once, on the same table you are looking at.
Hour nineteen. The point where most pieces are abandoned.