why creating art together matters ?
AI is one of the clearest signs of where we’re heading as a species. People call it a tool, and it is, but it’s also shaping how we think, create, and make decisions. In a quiet way, the things we build start shaping us back.
I’m not against technology. I rely on it like everyone else. But it’s moving fast. Faster than we can always pause and ask what it’s doing to us, and to the world we depend on.
Every piece of technology opens something up, but it also closes something else down. It makes certain ways of living easier, and others harder to hold onto. So the question isn’t really “is this good or bad?” It’s more like, “what kind of life is this leading us toward?”
For most of human history, we’ve lived within limits. We depended on nature, on our bodies, on each other. We felt the consequences of what we did, pretty directly. Those limits shaped us. They taught us how to relate, how to care, how to cooperate.
Now, many of those limits are softening or disappearing. Technology can smooth things out, speed things up, and remove friction. That can be amazing. But it can also create a kind of distance. From the body. From each other. From the systems that actually keep life going.
And because of that, something simple starts to feel more important again. Being together. Making things with our hands. Sharing time and space with other people.
That’s where my work starts.
I’m interested in what it takes for people to stay genuinely connected. Not just online or in theory, but in real life. Especially when creating something asks for more than just an individual effort. When it needs people to show up, to collaborate, to figure things out together.
The installations I make are designed that way. They’re big, physical structures that no one person can build alone. They need many hands, many decisions, many moments of coordination. You can’t just observe, you have to participate. The work only exists because people come together to make it.
That matters to me because disconnection feels like one of the quiet risks of our time. As our tools get more powerful, it becomes easier to drift away from the things that keep us grounded. Nature, the body, hands-on knowledge, and the simple reality that we depend on each other.
So through my work, I try to bring those things back in.
I work with timber, natural materials, and simple systems that make each person’s contribution visible. Technology is still there, but it supports the process rather than replacing it. The making still depends on people, on relationships, on place.
I’m not trying to go backwards or reject what’s coming. I’m more interested in asking how we move forward without losing what makes us human. How we design things that still need us, not just our ideas, but our presence, our care, our bodies.
These questions are personal for me too. Over time, I’ve come back again and again to connection. To softness. To being in relationship with others and with the world. It’s changed how I see making. It’s not just about what we create, but about what kind of connection that creation makes possible.
In the end, I’m interested in keeping creation close to life. Close to people. Close to the world we’re part of.
We’re going to keep creating. That’s not the question.