I have been working with flowers for many years, returning to them not as subjects, but as a way of thinking. A flower holds opposing truths at once: beauty and collapse, presence and disappearance, seduction and loss. It opens, it transforms, it fades. Nothing about it is fixed. In this body of work, most of the flowers do not exist in the world. They stretch, dissolve, fracture, or hover in uncertain states — invented, or altered beyond recognition, not to escape reality, but to come closer to an inner one. I think of them as invented truths: images that move away from appearance in order to come closer to experience. I am not interested in describing a flower, but in what a flower becomes — under pressure, in memory, in time. Forms repeat and shift across a series within series: Petals and Pods, Ikebana, Floral Whisper, Perfumed Wounds, Suspended Bouquet. Each holds a different state, yet all belong to the same quiet cycle of emergence and undoing. Each work is printed directly onto wood, sometimes over surfaces that carry their own irregularities, so that image and ground become inseparable. No two are identical. I return to flowers because they do not resist their own becoming. An inner state of bloom and shadow.