My art begins in the act of being present in the world. I'm interested in taking myself, and in turn the viewer, outside of the everyday and into a state of curiosity and reflection. My work resists stillness: I want each piece to reveal the layers of reality we only notice when we slow down, look closely, and imagine the unknown.
My process begins with research — place-based observation, reading, listening, conversation — into the natural world: matter at different scales, systems of growth and decay, the pull between chaos and order. In my sketchbook I record stains from rust, the flow of water, forms that mirror and repeat outward like cell division or a symmetry glimpsed in a leaf. This lets me locate myself within a pattern larger than I can fully conceive.
I translate that research into emotional, abstract form: knotting, knitting, and braiding fiber into elongated, vertebral shapes that hang free from the wall; staining and splattering cloth and paper until chance takes over; marking moments of significance in gold against fields of weather and decay. Some works begin as paintings that I digitize and have commercially printed on fabric — when the cloth returns to me, I embroider new worlds on top of it, a second layer of hand over machine. Each piece grows organically, spontaneous mark-making set against slow, obsessive accumulation, letting entropy and repetition shape the outcome as much as intention does.
The viewer is drawn in through the layering of material and, in the suspended works, invited to move around the piece entirely — coaxed closer to see how it's constructed, or the smaller worlds a larger gesture contains. Some marks feel familiar, ghosts of past experience in nature; others gesture toward something not yet seen.