On Chrome
Mirror-polished chrome is less a material than a decision. It refuses to speak for itself.
Chrome is a decision, not a surface. It refuses its own image and returns the world instead. The first time I saw a polished bronze sculpture from across a courtyard, what stopped me wasn't the figure — it was the fact that I could see the trees behind me, the sky above, the building opposite, all bent into a single skin. The work disappeared and the room arrived in its place.
That trick of refusal became the seed of the studio's sculptural language. Every chrome and bronze piece since has been engineered to do the same thing: stand inside a space, hold a recognisable form, and then hand the room back to the room. The figure is the host. The polish is the courtesy.
Polish is also patience. Each surface is hand-finished over weeks in the studio, with the final mirror grade reached by working through grits the eye stops being able to count. There is no shortcut to a chrome that disappears — only the time it takes to remove every trace of the hand that made it.
What you see, finally, is your own world inside an impossible figure. That is the whole proposition. The work is a frame for the thing you'd otherwise miss.