Projects

Handle With Care

The idea stems from my compulsion to collect rocks, my interest in geode mineral formation, and the concept of fossilization. Geodes often form from air pockets trapped in lava, gradually filling with minerals as groundwater moves around the rock. Over time, minerals grow to create intricate worlds within these unassuming vessels. Fossils are remnants or impressions of prehistoric animals, offering glimpses into an almost unimaginable past. They are memories permanently embedded in the Earth, prompting consideration of what has become fossilized within oneself. Memories are like pockets of air in rocks and skeletons encased in stone; one must excavate, examine, and pry to reveal what is hidden.

There are Many Ways to Skin a Rabbit

Description coming soon.

Hound with One Red Ear

Inspired by William Butler Yeats' poem "He mourns for the Change that has come upon him and his Beloved, and longs for the end of the world." The hound with one red ear, forever chasing his beloved through a thorny wood, bound to a life of yearning and decay.

​

Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?
I have been changed to a hound with one red ear;
I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns,
For somebody hid hatred and hope and desire and fear
Under my feet that they follow you night and day.
A man with a hazel wand came without sound;
He changed me suddenly; I was looking another way;
And now my calling is but the calling of a hound;
And Time and Birth and Change are hurrying by.
I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky
And lay in the darkness, grunting, and turning to his rest.

Up on the Hill

This project is dedicated to my great grandmother who passed in November of 2022. With her passing, I not only lost a friend and mentor, I lost one of the only positive connections to my childhood. The sanctuary of a life she and my grandfather created for themselves also cradled me through the darkest of nights growing up. She was birds on the lawn and seeds scattered on every walkway. She was buttery afternoon light filtered through lace curtains and cinnamon toast. She was iron-will and prayers for all of her grandchildren every night. 

Each of these objects is made in her memory and also in fear of forgetting. I know that someday, just like with all things, the memory of her will become distorted. The sharp needles of grief crawling up my throat at the thought of never seeing her again will eventually dull into the gray of raw clay.

Guts

I imagined what my insides must look like.

The Exploding Project

Description coming soon.

Hanging Altars

Description coming soon.

Found Object Sculpture

Description coming soon.