I’ve spent a lot of my life alone. I began making self-portraits in 2018, in Mexico and Los Angeles, where solitude gave me the space. When I arrived in rural Canada in 2020, the world had shut down. There was no one to photograph and no one I was allowed to see. The woods became my refuge, and self-portraiture became a natural continuation of the way I was already working.

The farther I moved into the wilds, the less I needed the things that once told me who I was. Clothes, watches, schedules, status, other people’s expectations. I kept dropping things. I kept dropping my fucks.

There is no dress code in the woods. No one cares what you’re wearing, what time it is, what you do for a living, or what your watch cost. Without all those signals, something began to dissolve. The distance between body and landscape. Between who I had been and whatever was underneath.

Nudity entered the work naturally. Not as provocation, but as one less layer of identity to carry. The body became part of the landscape, no different from stone, water, or tree.