Objects lean into light like unfinished sentences—each edge pausing where meaning might continue but doesn’t. Illumination is not revelation, only a hesitation stretched thin.
Decay edits everything, not with care but with certainty. It removes excess, then the essential, until nothing remains but the idea that something was once arranged.
Vig, 2026
Cher Ami (French for dear friend) was donated to the U.S. Army by a British carrier pigeon breeder.
On the 4th of October 1918 Cher Ami was shot through the chest and leg by the enemy’s fire but miraculously still managed to return with a message dangling from its injured leg. The message Cher Ami carried was from Major Charles S. Whittlesey’s Lost Battalion from the Seventy-Seventy infantry division. They had been caught between the German line and their own ally who thought they were the enemy. Being shot from both sides, the message Cher Ami was carrying resulted in the survival of 194 soldiers from the battalion.
For his heroic service, Cher Amiwas awarded the French Croix de Guerre with palm. He was returned to the United States and died at Fort Monmouth, N.J. on the 13th of June 1919 as a result of his wounds and are now exhibited at the Smithsonian Institution.
A few photographic works from my on going project Pigeon Pedigree.
one stretched clean, enforcing the idea of endlessness by stopping just in time, one is light, accurate only for a moment, now gone, one fixed to a wall, assuming meaning will show up if it waits.
one: Northern harbour of Copenhagen, 2021
two: Tottenham, London, 2019
three: Lastovo, Croatia, 2024
Last year I contributed to Christian + Jade’s research project The Age of Wood — considering wood as a register of time rather than a material alone.
Photographs from my archive were selected in response to their exhibition in Japan, operating as fragments: traces of growth, weathering, extraction and care. Less illustration, more resonance.
The work sits within a wider inquiry into forests, craft and duration — how materials age, and how we choose to age alongside them.
THROTTLE, 2025
pen on tissue paper in self build oak frame
40x60cm
throttle has a gift for the imperative.
responsibility catches in his throat like breath held too long.
plans arrive the way weather does—sudden, accurate, unavoidable.
when the bros ride toward danger, it is Throttle who reads the air.
he measures the moment in a flash,
then says what must be done.
