Where conceptual art once treated the image as a site of meaning, inquiry now shifts to the infrastructures that make perception possible. Color overlays are not decoration, they are instructions, revealing systems otherwise invisible: signaling protocols, mapping conventions, behavioral logics.

Looking back from Amsterdam to Los Angeles, The Living Atlas reveals less a series of discrete projects than a continuously shifting working environment. The studio never stayed in one place; it moved with us, dissolved, reassembled. The method; walking, mapping, dividing, color-coding, instructing—remained, but its function never fixed.

Washed up. Tide, debris, or the strange feeling of being past usefulness. While developing Backdoor Rebel Routes for Bad Girls for the Intersections program at 18th Street Arts Center, we started mapping the shoreline between the Palisades and Marina del Rey. We collected fragments left behind: driftwood, bones, toys, tiny pieces of someone else drifting in

Lace entered our practice before a grand theory caught up. We weren’t looking for symbolism, we watched light in slow motion. In Angelic Space (2005), lace became an anti-screen: not a surface that receives an image, but one that distorts it. Projections pass through holes instead of landing cleanly. Color scatters. Shadows leaks. At first, nothing resolves. Then, slowly, perception clicks. The image doesn’t appear, it is assembled in the viewer’s mind. Slow-motion seeing ch

Greyzones Revisited shifts attention from retrieval to circulation: to how artworks persist through language, how they disappear without vanishing, how institutions remember through text as much as through objects.

Los Angeles has long operated through projection, not only as image, but as spatial reality. Light settles on surfaces, narratives overwrite land, and futures are rehearsed while the ground beneath them continues to shift. Working along the coastline, where erosion, regulation, and speculation converge, we find ourselves in a transitional phase.