Paper carries time. In its fibers are the landscapes it came from, the hands that shaped it, and the small, inevitable accidents that make it real. To work with paper is to work with memory — not as something fixed, but as something that continues to change, absorbing, recording, and revealing the passage of time.
Each sheet is a meeting of place and process: plant, water, hand, tool, air. The resulting surface holds a topography of traces — impressions, variations, interruptions — that speak of human presence. In a digital age of seamlessness, paper remains resolutely honest, its imperfections a reminder that value often lies in what cannot be replicated.
“Paper does not erase time;
it holds it.”