I call them Modelli Circolari, and they stem from my obsession with modeling and diagramming reality — things I am eager to understand or fascinated by. Each piece has an inner focus circle that hosts symbols, connections, diagrams and words.

Sewing patterns are among the most intimate technical drawings that exist — a system built to fit one specific body, to account for its particular measurements and proportions. These pieces borrow that language: graph paper, construction arcs, notch marks, seam allowances. But what's being fitted here isn't a body. The annotations circle questions about modeling itself — what it means to take a measurement, to reduce something living to a set of parameters, to ask whether the model will hold.

Writing that can be kept without being read. The hand moves through the full motions of journaling, forming letters, following lines and releasing what is underneath, but the script is stripped just far enough from legibility that not even I can read it a few minutes later.

The illegibility is built in from the start: a way of having the page without the exposure. The body does the work of letting go, and what remains is the visual trace of that. Some are almost graphic, studying how text sits on a surface and what different formats carry implicitly: the letter, the list, the timeline. Others are purely gestural, the handwriting loosening into something closer to weather than language.

Structures layered over structures, each made in a different logic and technique resembling notations, connections and relationships.

Everyday materials given philosophical problems through image and Italian text. A bundle of brushes, a tangle of thread, a row of matchsticks — each piece pairs its object with a handwritten aphorism. The objects don't illustrate the words. They think alongside them.

Watercolor botanicals layered over white patterns that suggest root systems, sound waves, growth rhythms. The white marks function as a kind of alphabet, whether it's our language imposed on the plants or their own communication system that we can't quite decipher. These paintings ask what's happening beneath what we can see and what forces and patterns exist beyond our usual ways of knowing.

Each piece is drawn after an internal family systems therapy session — a map of the inner figures that surfaced, the things they said, where they sat in relation to each other. The format borrows from diagram and annotation: arrows, labels, zones. Not documentation exactly, but a portrait of the inner world, protectors, dialogues and exiles I explored in that session.

Gestural ink paintings annotated with the actual timestamps of each stroke — when it was made, in sequence. The act of painting becomes the data being recorded. What's usually invisible in a finished piece — the rhythm, the pauses, the duration — is written into the surface.