I make marks in thread. On antique indigo I build dense fields by hand: packed dots, netted webs, radiating dashes that accumulate into something between textile and map.

I’m drawn to systems that diagram connection: orreries, cartography, satellite transmission maps. Most of all to protective marks, to exact rules whose meaning stays sealed inside them. Radiating rings become celestial bodies or transmission nodes; the lacework between them becomes connective tissue: gravity, route, signal.

I work under the compulsion to fill the entire field. But filled space is not uniform space. Density is my drawing tool. Open netting breathes, packed marks press forward, and the ground becomes new terrain. What I build are charts of unseen systems, given form one field at a time: night cities from above, mechanisms of orbits that were never visible.