I am struck by intimate encounters that typically go unnoticed. Objects that record gestures draw me in: a piece of foil that borrows the texture of asphalt after it’s been crushed by a car, or a branch that has split in two and reveals its core. I engage with material during or after moments of transformation, where the remnant of touch is present or unfolding. 

I approach materials like a weaver. My nature is to unite things, to record time, and to embed meaning through touch. Weaving is one simple principle that can yield infinite results. It is possibility. Running threads through our hands over and over, we organize them into a unified whole. Touch is an invitation towards change. Touch is the vehicle of tenderness.

I feel an urgency to reveal new ways we might relate to the world around us. I do this by responding to existing materials and objects, bringing them together, and transforming them.  My interventions draw our attention to the specificity and ephemerality of material. A rock found in a special and familiar creek. A willow branch grown by a friend. The remainder of a clementine, peeled and eaten. These objects hold little bits of a moment, place, or memory. Yet they move through time and space with us, like companions. They are portals that might be strung together to form some new meaning, like words in a sentence.