My practice is built from the idea that the edges of biological life are not fixed. That the cell under glass and the cell that hums in the space between all things are not so different. I work with bioplastic, wood and laser to make this visible, not to explain it, but to propose it.

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Making is thinking for me, and every material carries its own argument. Bioplastic, a polymer I make from gelatines and glycerines, behaves like body: translucent, tough, alive-feeling. It cannot hide what it carries. Neither can I. I use transparency deliberately, my way of being present in the work without obscuring what lies beneath.

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Wood holds something different: memory, resistance, permanence. Laser-cutting into it felt like cauterising, a mark made with heat, human feeling pressed into natural matter.

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Layering is both my process and my proposition. I build up forms drawn from skin, sound waves, cymatics and the microscopic, collapsing scales until the boundary between one kind of life and another becomes unclear. Wooden boards carry the cellular archive of the world we have already mapped. Around and over them, bioplastic structures hold what lies beyond. The transparent rests on the solid. The unseen layers over the seen. Always touching. Never quite merging.

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My work offers one interpretation of an infinite number of cellular ecosystems that could exist beyond ours, not as speculation, but as a serious proposition. The vast other is not a metaphor. It is a hypothesis. And a hypothesis is simply the moment before knowing.