The Colorless Mirror

My paintings don’t rely on color to carry meaning. Instead, they exist in a quieter, stripped-down space where everything is built out of black, white, and the tension between them. I’ve always been drawn to that contrast, not just visually, but for what it suggests about how we experience the world. Light and dark aren’t just opposites on a surface; they echo the way we move through life, caught between certainty and doubt, clarity and confusion, what we believe is right and what we’re not so sure about. In painting this way, I’m not trying to simplify anything. If anything, removing color makes those tensions more visible, more direct. There’s nothing to soften the edges, just the push and pull between extremes.

But what interests me most isn’t the black or the white on their own, it’s everything in between. The grays are where the paintings really live. They hold the subtle shifts, the uncertainty, the moments where things stop being clearly defined. That’s where I see something honest, because most of our lives don’t exist in absolutes. We move through contradictions, we carry both light and dark at the same time, and we’re constantly adjusting somewhere in the middle. Each transition on the canvas, each shift in tone, becomes a way of exploring that space, where things aren’t resolved, but still feel real.

In that sense, the paintings become less about presenting something and more about reflecting something back. Without color to guide the experience, you’re left facing the structure, the contrast, the weight of each decision, and whatever it brings up for you. There’s no single reading, no clear answer waiting to be found. What’s there is a kind of mirror, one that doesn’t explain, but invites you to sit with the ambiguity, to notice where you land between light and dark. That’s really the point of the work: not to define anything, but to stay in that space of tension and let it speak for itself.