While much of my work is devoted to restoration and precise copies, I’ve long been drawn to experimenting — to taking humble materials and seeing how far they can be pushed. Plaster, in particular, has become a kind of personal playground for exploring colour, form, and surface.

Unlike canvas and oil, which come with centuries of artistic tradition, plaster offers a raw immediacy. Mixed to just the right consistency, it can be poured, sculpted, textured, and tinted in countless ways. Once set, it can resemble cracked stone, sun-bleached earth, or even take on an abstract, jewel-like brilliance.

I’ve used tinted Alpha plaster to create decorative bowls, furniture elements, and sculptural objects that blur the line between utility and art. Sometimes I incorporate fragments of familiar domestic items — an old appliance, a piece of upholstery — reimagining them in plaster so they become almost archaeological, artifacts from a parallel world.

This work is all about redefining the familiar. A three-piece suite might lose its function but gain a strange, theatrical beauty. A simple bowl becomes a stage for the unpredictable play of colour and crackle.

In these pieces, I’m less concerned with tradition or replication. Instead, I’m exploring what happens when you strip objects of their usual meanings. Can something ordinary become something curious, even poetic? For me, working with plaster is a chance to keep discovering, to let material and chance guide the final form.

It’s this balance — between meticulous restoration, respectful copying, and playful reinvention — that keeps my practice alive and evolving. Each discipline feeds the others, ensuring that whether I’m preserving the past or inventing something new, the work remains rooted in craftsmanship and genuine curiosity.