Still life has never felt still to me. Flowers shift constantly, even as they sit in water. They open, lean, bruise and fade. Painting them is not an act of preservation but of attention. I am less interested in holding a moment in place than in acknowledging its movement, its brief insistence on being noticed. The challenge is not to describe what I see, but to allow the painting to remain alive, unsettled, and unresolved in the same way the subject is.

A time came when painting stopped fitting neatly into my days. Instead, it slipped into the margins, early mornings, half hours, the quiet before the house stirred. What I lost in uninterrupted time, I gained in clarity. Each mark began to matter more. Each decision carried weight. Painting became less about control and more about attention, about trusting what could happen when time was limited but intention was not.