My embroideries often begin long before the needle touches the fabric.

They arrive in dreams.

Not quiet dreams, but vivid, strange little worlds stitched together from memory, symbols, fragments of conversations, impossible landscapes, and emotions that linger long after waking. Sometimes I remember only a color, a gesture, or the feeling of standing inside a place that could never exist in daylight. Other times the dreams unfold like tangled stories, theatrical and surreal, filled with details too peculiar to ignore.

Embroidery has become my way of translating those nocturnal fragments into something tangible. Thread moves slowly, almost like remembering. Each stitch feels like tracing the outline of something fleeting before it disappears again into sleep. I am drawn to the tension between softness and unease, beauty and distortion, humor and melancholy, much like dreams themselves.

The work is notalways  meant to recreate the dreams exactly. Instead, it captures their atmosphere. Through embroidery, I try to preserve the strange logic of the subconscious, where symbols drift, time bends, and ordinary things become charged with meaning. Fabric becomes a kind of dream surface, and the needle a small instrument for excavation, pulling hidden images up from beneath the mind like threads from dark water.