Contact Us

Questions to ask? Points to ponder?

Meaning of life? My favourite colour? The most effective tail if you could have a tail?


123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789


You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.



[precision] the short version:

During the day, I build buildings.
[tools: Rhino3D, Grasshopper, AutoCAD]

During the night, I occupy the interstitial space between physical and virtual; art and architecture; the technical and abstract.
[tools: soldering iron, python, rubbish parts]

Exploring the constraints of materiality and context, this is one of the by-products from this experimental process of play and discovery.

[abstraction] the long version:

an inescapable mystique surrounds underwater creatures; resonating into pirates’ tales, bragging from rogue fisherman, or simply the curious wonder of a child growing up not quite close enough to smell the salt in the air, but enough to have the sea just at the narrow edge of their fantasies. there was once that i walked onto the beach in the early mist of the morning, bare foot, with the sandy remains of the evening in my eyes. the beach stretched long and narrow, dotted with sea jellies washed ashore from the anger of the tides.

it’s an unexpectedly remarkable moment, such as this, to be able to encounter your unknowns—as if the whispered secrets of the magic can finally reach your ears. spotted skin, speckled with sand, lying at my toes. there was something about that same moment, as i lay silently in my bed dreaming peaceful dreams of the stories that are about to roll open before me, while the fury of the sea buckles against its borders. wanting to reach down with a finger running across spotted gelatine—but i didn’t. i couldn’t. the sea jelly that propels itself around the expanse of our earth, an expanse far greater than ours—this was not the same creature any more. and that ominous moment of finally being able to approach these creatures would be something that would only live as wistful colours in my memory.


the allure of a sea creature cannot be described in same detail and rigour as Cousteau; it’s the immensity of the unknown which spans farther than you could imagine, but a reachability which deceives you. spread out and touch the water, let it soak upon the cuffs of your rolled up pants; it always remains something bigger than you, something a little stronger than you, and filled with an amazing world that lives in your mind like the drippy paintings in your childhood storybooks.

i only had three storybooks as a small child, the ones with an included audio cassette which read along with (sometimes for) you. i only had three, because each time and again that I had began to turn the pages to Peter Pan, Pinocchio, or Bambi, I wouldn’t be reading the same story. rather, looking at the forms and colours of something that followed a narrative not quite to the rhythm of what I heard through the headphones which constantly slipped off my head.

sometimes people need a narrative, or a sequence to follow. to be able to predetermine an ending, any sort of ending, and to have their appropriate reactions shined up and ready to go. it’s difficult for me to follow this same circumstance; it’s as though the Technicolour cloud of my dreams escape during my sleep and i follow my days by chasing them down to tuck back safely behind my ear. so if the unknown is such a frightening place to someone, i wouldn’t want to follow them, in fear of ending up in the dark colours of their dreams.


as far as my intrigue has spread, are as far as my stories have spread themselves. thinly across an expanse, it’s always been that passive wait for the will. to allow myself to settle a bucket down and watch it collect all the steeping waters washing past my ankles. i’ve just been letting it swish back and forth across the cracks, dipping my toe in wherever it seems most shallow, or most deep, at the moment i need it to be. i suppose it’s all because i’m a river, while some people are wells. except i’ve always wanted to be a little sea. like the Issyk Kul.

now my buckets fill up. they fill themselves as if they wait to burst a dam. my buckets fill up, and i hope i have enough to house sea jellies and octopus. though my buckets will never see themselves to be full, or the waters to ever be still; i know it waits for me.