Bubbles hold a kind of magic we never outgrow. A breath, a wand, a moment of attention, and suddenly there is something in the air that wasn't there before. Round, shimmering, weightless. It drifts, it catches the light, and then it's gone. This series began with that small wonder, the impulse to make something float.

The pieces are built from discarded paintings, surfaces my sister had set aside, cut into squares, and reassembled into new grounds. Over that gridded history I float bright forms shaped like breath, bubbles caught as they rise, drift, and burst. The grid anchors what came before; the bubbles refuse it. Suspension here is both physical, paint pooled, gravity paused, and a feeling: the held breath before a bubble lands, the brief, glowing pause between making something and letting it go.