When I was five years old, my family moved into a new home. The attic immediately became my playroom, and the unprimed walls a blank canvas for drawings. I covered those walls with notations of my world – a genuine wonder in the everyday. I continue to excavate the quotidian and act on an innate proclivity for play.

My work forms through a series of iterative moves that investigate material, structure, space, and narrative. I earnestly collect materials that bear a compelling aesthetic, shred of character, or hint of potential. This “archaeological dig” can reveal both poetry and wreckage. Much of my collection is disposable, easily overlooked, or ephemeral. Scraps of old drawings and sculptures, cardboard packaging, pool noodles, and lozenge wrappers fill bins in my studio. My sketchbook is littered with snapshots of shadows cast on the urban landscape, drawings of provisional demolition and construction sites, and traces of graffiti prose. The accumulated material and effectually, documentation, goes on and on. We are inundated with stuff – congestion made of disparate fragments, natural and synthetic, tactile and auditory, real and invented. Both the observed and unnoticed scraps fill our spaces, thoughts, and conversations. I am infatuated with the forgotten in-between spaces and the histories nestled within these found moments. That said I practice discretion while building my collection, picking and choosing what I want, and leaving the rest behind.

Relationships between spaces and materials surface as I organize the gathered visuals and tactile information into new orientations and systems. Copious manipulations and rearrangements reveal old and new stories, as two and three-dimensional abstracted tales develop from the fragment rubble. Leftovers are rendered “special” and a precarious sense of balance and odd hybridity emerge in irregular landscapes and structures. My process and product are scrappy in nature and tangled up in a whimsical peculiarity.