Conversations surrounding the Falling series gradually expanded its scope.

Rather than treating a fall as a single event, the work kept returning to questions of repetition, discipline, and whether resilience itself could become a practiced gesture.

Over time, those ideas suggested new figures and new narratives while remaining within the same body of work.

Inflection Point owes part of its existence to a conversation with a collector.

After acquiring another work, she wondered what would happen if one of these riders became a ballerina.

The suggestion lingered long after the conversation ended. Rather than becoming a commission or a direct response, it opened a different path for the Falling series.

The question stayed:

What would that same moment look like from another perspective?

Inflection Point was never part of the original plan.

The idea didn't begin in the studio. It grew out of conversations with a collector who had followed my work and wondered what would happen if one of these riders became a ballerina.

The suggestion stayed with me.

To me, ballet has never been simply about grace. It is one of the clearest examples of what repeated sacrifice looks like. Behind every effortless movement are countless falls, bruises, corrections, and the stubborn decision to begin again.

That was the part that interested me.

Not elegance.

The discipline required to survive failure often enough that it becomes part of the performance.

The horse remained, but changed meaning for me. Less a companion than a mirror, reflecting back the things we still have to face despite experience or preparation.

I wasn't trying to illustrate a dancer.

I was exploring another form of resilience, and another way of asking whether a fall can become something we move through with intention rather than fear.