All matrixes are inked relief and printed on an etching press. Each print went through the press 8-14 times and had 14-20 colors with more colors achieved through layering and transparency. Fields of color are initially rolled onto a large magnetic matrix and then printed. Each shape, mark, figure, mountain, etc. layered on top is an individual magnetic relief plate that is hand inked before each trip through the press. Sometimes textures created by Nina are rolled onto the relief plates (the fish for example).


Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!stages a surreal desert scene where absurdity and horror sit side by side.The title, borrowed from the children’s song“Sally the Camel,”lands with a thud here—its sing-songrhythm repurposed into something heavy, relentless, and irredeemably tired. There’s no joy in the refrainanymore. Just repetition and fallout.In the foreground, a camel lies collapsed on scorched earth, surrounded by redflames and pools of bluethat could be water—or the memory of it. Mountains loom in the background, not majestic but ominous,bracketed by burning oil rigs and masked, watchfulfigures. The land is overburdened. The atmosphere ishostile. And still, the beat goes: boom, boom, boom, boom.What reads atfirst as playful quickly reveals itself as the landscape of endless war—resource war, landwar, spiritual war. The camel, a symbol of endurance, is no longer moving. It’s not carrying anything. It is the cost. Its body stretches across a terrain shaped by extraction and surveillance, its stillness a kind of protest—or surrender.The silence in the work is deafening. The masked figures don’t speak. The flames offer no chaos, only inevitability. The visual language is cartoonish, but the story it tells is not. It gestures toward global geographies of suffering—places where people are expected to endure the unendurable under the heat to find ifference, or worse, deliberate harm. Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!is not just a collapse. It’s what happens when collapse becomes routine.When the burdened are asked to carry on, to keep singing, to smile through smoke. Here, the beat isn’t keeping time. It’s keeping denial alive.Catch and ReleaseCatch and Release presents a split composition that is both peaceful and disturbing. Above the waterline, brown-bodied figures float and stretch toward the sky, their hands raised in gestures that could suggest swimming, reaching, or a kind of spiritual surrender. The surface reads as leisure—a beach scene, a summer ritual, a moment of