The plotter just held the pen.

What this is

Most of what's here is a collision: a creative mind meeting real data and pure mathematics. A system of equations. A week of passing traffic. The sun's radiation, hour by hour. A pattern first drawn five hundred years ago. The data decides where the lines go, the mind decides which collisions are worth drawing — and a pen plotter follows the instructions without opinion, in real ink, on real paper.

And some pieces are simpler than that: lines drawn by hand, kept because they looked right. Every piece is labeled honestly, whichever kind it is.

The room

Everything happens in 72 square feet of Austin, Texas. A home office that holds a desk job by day, a pen plotter, a 3D printer, the paper, and the ink — all of it sharing one small room. When a piece takes hours of continuous drawing, the room belongs to the machine.

Found, not sold

Some pieces are made to be found, not bought. They're hidden — behind doors, in codes scattered across videos, sometimes out in the world itself — and they belong to whoever was watching closely enough. Those pieces are true one-of-ones: once found, they will never be made again.

The studio

The whole practice currently fits in those 72 square feet — and it's outgrowing them. The plan is a dedicated studio in the backyard: a purpose-built room for the machines, the paper, and the series that don't fit in a corner of an office. It's roughly a $20,000 build, funded in phases, and it will be documented as it goes up — from the first post hole to the first piece drawn inside it.

The studio also makes room for what's next: bringing the plotted work into three dimensions — the same lines, off the paper.

If the work has ever made you look twice, you can put a little ink toward the build. Every contribution goes to the studio. Nothing else.

Elsewhere