The drawings began before the dog. In the spring of 2021 I rode 1,600 kilometres alone through four countries, sleeping in dark forests without company. That journey left something behind — a new attentiveness to what the body senses in the dark when vision is useless. After the lockdown, my dog  arrived. We began camping together, and the drawings continued — now with a co-perceiver who could detect what I could not.

I draw the trees in the dark. The drawings attempt to translate what ABBA senses and follows: subtle movements, fleeting presences, microscopic tremors in the middle of the night. Each mark is an attempt to record the unseen — the way the forest breathes, the tension that hangs in the darkness, the faint pulse of things just beyond my perception. Not representations of what I see. Translations of what he senses.

Some of these drawings are shown alongside the Monas — the sonic automata series that grew from the same forest nights.