Alter Lina (Black Line) Collection
Alter Lina is one of the most honest bodies of work I’ve made, because it lives right where I live emotionally—between control and chaos. When people see the finished pieces, they often describe them as landscapes, storms, maps, or “worlds,” and I love that. But what they don’t always see is the moment behind each one: the split-second decisions, the nervous energy, the quiet hope that the next move doesn’t ruin everything.
My Ink on Film process dries so fast that it doesn’t allow me to hide. Every stroke and shape happens almost instantly. It forces me to be direct—to really think about placement, form, and contrast before I place the mark. When I’m painting, it feels like a rush with every move: exciting, terrifying, tense… and somehow relieving all the way through. It’s like holding your breath while something becomes real.
And the truth is… I can’t tell you how many pieces I’ve thrown away. A lot. Not because they weren’t “good enough” in some clean, polished way—but because I could feel when the conversation between me and the material broke. Sometimes I pushed too hard. Sometimes I hesitated. Sometimes I tried to control what was never meant to be controlled. There’s a specific kind of heartbreak in watching something almost become what you felt in your head, and then realizing it missed the mark. But there’s also growth in that. This collection is full of lessons I had to learn the hard way.
What keeps me coming back is the moment when the chaos gives me something I never could’ve planned. Ink blooms in ways that feel alive. Alcohol opens pockets of light like windows. Forms collide and separate like weather patterns—like memory. That’s why I named this collection Alter Lina: it speaks to change, to shifting identity, to the way a single choice can redirect everything. The pieces aren’t just images to me—they’re evidence of movement. Evidence of surrender. Evidence of trying again.
I also spend time with these works after they’re “done.” I photograph them up close because there are hidden places in the film—details that only show up when you lean in. Tiny structures, veins, galaxies, shorelines… sometimes they feel like secret rooms. And it reminds me of people, honestly. We all have surface-level stories, but if someone stays long enough, they start seeing what’s underneath.
That’s what I want Alter Lina to do for you. I want it to invite you in, slow you down, and give you space to feel something you can’t always put into words. I want it to be a conversation starter—between you and the art, and between you and whoever’s standing next to you. Because the best part of making abstract work isn’t telling you what it is. It’s watching you discover what it becomes for you.
This collection is a record of risk. Of throwing things away. Of trusting the process anyway. Of finding beauty in the mess. And of learning, piece by piece, that letting go can be its own kind of control.
