I have never belonged entirely to any single tradition, culture, or discipline. For a long time that felt like a deficit. Eventually I understood it was the work: My practice moves across sound, video, drawing, performance, and mechanical sculpture because the question I keep asking cannot be answered by any single medium: what remains irreducibly human when behavior is increasingly structured by systems designed to predict, replicate, and optimize it?  I work this from both ends — the performer reduced to measurable output, the living tree turned composer, the human and the mechanical contaminating each other slowly and without resolution. This dual ontology — humans as machines, machines as human— is not a metaphor. It is a method.

My work does not try to resolve the contradiction. It tries to inhabit it — to make it visible, tangible, audible. To hold both sides simultaneously without collapsing into either. Resolution would mean choosing: machine or human, Mexico or Germany, academic or self-taught, conceptual or material. I have never chosen. The tension itself is the subject.

Enlightenment automata were built to surpass human precision and prove that organisms are machines. My Monas invert that logic. Through crude mechanics — off-center weights and irregular cams — they capture exactly what a perfect mechanism was designed to eliminate: hesitation, vulnerability, the constant tremor of being alive. The question isn't whether the automaton feels. It's why such simple motion makes us feel seen. What makes us human isn't perfect complexity — it's uncertainty, imperfection, the inability to hold perfectly still.

In the Post-COVID Series I used AI to collapse arbitrary images onto portraiture, then drew the results by hand — reintroducing hesitation where the algorithm had resolved form. In the Tent Visions drawings I draw trees in the dark, trying to translate what my dog senses at night rather than what I see. The same attempt runs through all three: to make perceptible what lies just beyond the threshold of human awareness.

I have lived between Mexico and Germany for over twenty years. That position — between cultures, between social registers — is the biographical version of the tension I explore formally. I am interested in what survives translation. And in what, stubbornly, does not.