At times, my art has been called surreal—perhaps because it stirs the subconscious, or assembles forms in ways not often seen. But while surrealism dreams in distortion, I create from a place of clarity. My aim is not to escape reality, but to confront it—through the very materials it offers me.
That is why I call my style Symbolic Naturalism.
In my work, there are no melting clocks, no illusions for illusion’s sake. There are stones shaped by rivers, wood marked by time, metal forged and scarred. These are real elements of our world—nothing invented—yet their composition, their union, becomes a symbolic reflection of the truths we often cannot say aloud.
I do not pull from dream, but from meaning. Each object I choose is both itself and more than itself. A branch may become a cry. A cracked mineral, a wound. A box may hold not just space, but memory. I am not distorting nature—I am translating it. Not to deceive, but to reveal.
Symbolic Naturalism is my bridge between the seen and the unseen. It is a language of materials, where the physical carries the metaphysical. It is grounded, not in fantasy, but in the belief that nature already speaks, and that art—at its best—is the act of listening carefully, and arranging what is heard into a message that others can understand.
So no, I do not consider my work surreal. I consider it real—profoundly so. Just rearranged until it tells the truth.