It began in the dark. Then the eyes adjust. You move. You walk. Not sure where it started, where you are. Only that you are already inside it.
The view comes and goes. So does the way. It narrows, shifts, never quite straight. Cutting through. Wind moves through something. Tall reeds surround you. Dense. Almost closing in. Moving with the wind – enough to lose direction. Somewhere ahead, a horizon. Not seen yet, but felt. Something beyond the rustling. Then – space opens. The reeds give way to the ocean. Wide. Still. A quiet contrast
to the closeness before. You stand at the edge. A vast view. It doesn’t feel like arriving. More like reaching a threshold – between what has been walked and what remains unknown. Not an end. A meeting point.
I remember moving slowly, adjusting with each step. Not knowing where the other paths lead, only that I had to follow. They all end at the same edge. There was a repetition in the movement. Not a straight line, but something slightly off. Returning. Correcting. Continuing. Retracing the steps became the form.
It keeps returning to that movement and feel.
I walked a dream – now I draw its path.
early 2020
A moment – felt, not fully understood. Not knowing feels less like a gap here, and more like a condition you’re choosing to stay inside. A space where things can keep becoming Translating into form, rhythm, motion. Shapes emerge. Repeat. Shift.
A dream becoming line, texture, movement. It always returns to that first motion – finding a way, losing it, finding it again. Somewhere between memory and what hasn’t happened yet. An ongoing collaboration with life. A way of moving from something, to something.
Not knowing, a condition choosing to stay inside.
Every choice and path taken carries us to new places, but there's always something left behind. I started drawing – more a feeling than what I saw. A line at first. Then letting it move – without deciding where it should go. Letting it take shape. A line that moves and returns, changes. Repeats itself differently each time. You might call it a line. Or a pattern. But here, it’s just something you move through. And something that moves with you.
The line becomes structure, becomes surface, becomes something worn, inhabited. A drawing that doesn’t stay on paper. It tries out different bodies. It moves through images, materials, moments.
You might call it a line.
Touching it, stepping back, and touching it again and again and…
Circling something.
There’s no fixed arrival point in those lines. They move the same way the forms move.
It isn’t about choosing between one way or many. Maybe it’s about how to let the many hold together without collapsing into one.
Things can be unresolved. Things can be contradict. Anyway we continue. Continuing is the structure, the move not knowing is the ground. The things.. Life.
So the things are not objects at all. They are shifts in attention, fragments that insist, moments that leave a trace in the body before they become visible. Something like life passing through you and leaving marks.
The things are not objects at all.
It repeats, but not the same. Something pulls forward. Something holds.
Walking, looking, dreaming.
Wayvs serves as a reminder that while society may encourage us to follow a predetermined map, the true essence of life lies in embracing its open, unfolding, not always predictable nature.
Wayvs is a visual exploration of movement, time, and transformation. It reflects the way we navigate life - not in straight lines, but in loops, whirls, and shifting rhythms. The shape captures the tension between motion, action and pause.
What if the way forward isn’t a straight line.
