My work transfers the world onto light-sensitive paper. I work in an analogue darkroom I built in my studio, combining chemigram, photogram, prints from my own negatives and paint. Bodies, plants, landscapes and screens enter that paper and are transformed by its own laws. Even light is inverted there: the more light the paper receives, the darker it becomes. My works are dark because they are made of light.

I do not control what the chemistry does, only where it does it. Resists, exposure times and sunlight form a vessel within which I let chance act. My vocabulary comes from there too: pillars, tiles and plants are at once symbols and darkroom operations. What emerges belongs as much to photography as to painting and, when it leaves the wall, to sculpture too. Each piece is unique and cannot be repeated.

Photography earned its authority as proof that something was there. Today that task is carried out by digital imaging, and artificial intelligence, which I also use, can fabricate any appearance of reality. Just as photography freed painting from portraying the world, the digital frees analogue photography from documenting it. From that freedom, my works blur the real and the constructed: the photogram of a plant is its direct trace, though it looks like a drawing, while a figure that appears photographic may be invented. I am interested in the moment when viewers no longer know what they are looking at, because that is where the question running through my work appears: how we perceive and believe through images no one verifies.