Not a Body

This work begins with skin. Tanned hides, soaked, stretched, and shaped over hidden forms—root structures gathered from the forest floor. The roots stay inside, their shape carried beneath the leather. Their gesture forms the volume, without naming it.

Each surface holds its own swell — a quiet strain between inner weight and outer pressure. Water and heat harden the leather; the memory remains in the material. In some places, the skin contracts. In others, it softens.

The forms recall relics, offerings, preserved wounds. They carry the body’s rhythm — curve, pulse, contour. Something once present still lingers here: embodied, silent, and unrecoverable, yet persisting.

There is no fixed figure, no single shape to follow. The forms stay unresolved, leaning outward with stillness. Each one holds pressure and presence — a memory shaped into surface.