I become deeply attached to the simplest things. I keep random objects in cigar boxes, between pages of books, pinned to walls, and in my pockets. I can’t help but notice the disappearance of sentimentality for tangible objects. The rarity of current day photo albums, handwritten letters and postcards, a growing lack of attachment to family keepsakes that are discarded, turning up in dusty flea market boxes. Objects are losing their emotional weight as story telling devices, I want to gather them up and bring them back into the light. I do this by peeling away the obvious layers leaving only the bones. For some objects the essence lies in the geometry, for others in the texture.