From Skeleton to Spirit: Tracing the Architecture of the Unseen

So much of my work begins with the body—bones, ribs, the architecture that holds us upright. But I’ve come to realize that what I’m really after isn’t anatomy. It’s what moves through it. The unseen force that animates the structure—the spirit trying to make itself known through form.

When I start a drawing with a skull or ribcage, it’s never about accuracy. It’s about finding the point where the physical starts to blur into the metaphysical. The bones become scaffolds for energy, for gesture, for vibration. They’re reminders that every living thing is both structure and light.

In a way, the skeleton is a map of transformation. It’s what remains after life sheds its surface, and yet it still holds the memory of motion. I try to work from that place—where what’s gone still echoes, and what’s coming hasn’t yet taken shape. The space between death and becoming.

That’s where the drawing finds its pulse. Lines twist, blur, dissolve. What starts as matter dissolves into rhythm, into breath, into something that feels alive again. And when it’s finished—or maybe just momentarily complete—I realize it isn’t a drawing of anything at all. It’s a drawing through something. From skeleton to spirit. From structure to light.