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There is no specific ism in his arts. It’s rather an activity of collecting the scattered collages of unorganized thought, from intimate, personal view and experiences to world issues; mundane daily struggles to gods to urban dramas to myths to global climate.
Today, trying to distance himself from the world, being at a height, one would encounter the bustling city below as an almost illusory triviality. People passing by are mere dots, nameless and easily erased. It’s almost comforting contradictory; a place and moment when a person steps out awhile from the world and finds out the undying shadow resurfaced in between the daily routine and busy hours. A dream, faces or even scars that never actually leave, forever lingered as silent companion.
But it also gives a sensation of one's own fragility as an isolated, uninvolved existence; a strange sensation that challenge the claim that every element of the universe is a network of interconnected organisms.