On Editions: A Variable System
My works are digital by nature, which means they are technically infinite. A file doesn’t wear out, doesn’t degrade, doesn’t exist in just one place. Create editions of this kind of work is a declared choice: a positioning, a statement of value.
I use a Variable Edition system — marked on the Certificate of Authenticity as EV. The Certificate of Authenticity (COA) is a signed document that accompanies every work I sell, recording title, series, medium, dimensions, edition number, and archive reference. It’s the formal record that an object exists and belongs to someone. Every work leaves my studio with one.
Each edition consists of 7 copies plus 2 Artist Proofs.
The principle I follow, and find genuinely honest, comes from traditional photography: you sell the image, not the support. Within a single edition, I have the freedom to print on different papers, at different sizes, on canvas — without each variant opening a separate edition. The COA always documents the specific instance: support, paper, dimensions. But the edition number is shared. The collector who owns 3/7 on Hahnemühle Photo Rag 50×70 and the one who owns 5/7 on canvas 80×110 both hold two instances of the same work.
Why 7?
Seven comes from photography, but I didn’t choose it only by convention. It’s a prime number — indivisible, irreducible. This has an internal coherence in my framework: Seven Stations will be a project of seven series, seven works each. Another series in pre-production is called 11 Versions of Me — 11 is also prime. Prime numbers in my work aren’t decorative. They are structures that resist decomposition.
Artist Proofs
The two Artist Proofs in each edition are mine. I use them for exhibitions, loans, and research documentation. They are not for sale while the edition is open. Once an edition is complete, their eventual sale becomes a possibility — but a decision I’ll make when the time comes, not one I declare in advance.
Unique Works
Some processes don’t allow replication. A cyanotype exposed to sunlight, a chemical reaction on paper, an analog process with variables I don’t fully control — these produce objects that are singular by nature, not by declaration. When a medium makes reproduction physically impossible, the work is marked as a unique piece on the Certificate of Authenticity. The irreversibility is the medium’s, not mine.
The system is still young. Some things I define as I go, and I don’t mind saying so. What matters is that every choice — the number, the support, the certificate — is declared and traceable. Transparency isn’t an added value in my work. It’s part of the method.
