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 undoes itself. The hand moves through the motions of journaling — forming letters, following lines — but the script is stripped just far enough that nothing stays readable, not even to me. The pages can be kept without being exposed.

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. A painted flower, a drawn grid, a sewn triangle — each made in a different logic, each ignoring the others, until they start to rhyme. These are the pieces where the data practice and the studio practice are most visibly in the same room: marks that look like notation, gestures that look like diagrams, forms that are neither and both.

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.

Flowers, jellyfish, seaweed, poppies — painted from observation, then layered with thread or fine geometric structures drawn in white. Nature as it presents itself, and then nature as if it were maintaining its own data sets underneath.

Each piece is drawn after a 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, more like a portrait of a conversation that happened somewhere without coordinates.

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.