I’d call the collection Corporate Agony. Agonize is a verb. Agony names the feeling that runs through the work. I worked in the corporate world from 2016 to 2021. When I think back on those years, I remember the small gestures: the smile held a second too long, the hand waiting for a handshake to end, the fingers clasped under a table while everything above it looked composed. I began to notice how much effort went into appearing at ease. I knew that effort because I was making it too. Some of what I struggled with was hard to point to. I could finish the work, answer politely, and still feel worn down by how carefully I had managed my expression all day. I paid attention to who could show frustration and who had to make theirs sound reasonable. I wondered how often I had agreed simply because I couldn’t imagine explaining, in that room, why I didn’t. In Corporate Agony, I return to the objects and gestures that stayed with me: a name badge, a phone receiver, a trophy, a tie hanging into a dinner plate. In Under the Table, the faces are out of view. All you see are shoes, trouser legs, and one pair of hands clenched between the knees. I wanted that small gesture to have the whole room to itself. In other pieces, a face is scraped away or breaks apart as the image moves. The suit, the collar, and the practiced gesture can remain recognizable long after the person becomes difficult to see. After Everyone Left is the closest I came to painting how those years felt in my body. A figure lies across two office chairs, one hand hanging toward the floor. I think of the moment you realize you’re alone and can finally let your shoulders drop. The figure is still wearing the suit. For once, nobody needs anything from him.