artist statement
How can I learn to pay attention every day? Through my process, I am cultivating a practice of witnessing the subtle depths of tiny encounters. The way a book lost in a rainstorm dries into a collection of crinkled spaces, the way paper soaked with honey adheres itself to whatever it touches, the way a cattail bursts. I make into the space of these tiny encounters which are a sustenance of light. The objects I make are accumulations of a practice of light.
My work is about learning how to return. Each object is composed of a joining of disparate modes of touching clay––a volume pinched until the pinching begins to disappear, held up by a map of folded slabs, for example. I intend for my work to exist in the spaces between category, and yet, the objects are trying to listen to the enormity of being known.
The inherent precariousness and fragility of each object teaches me how to touch and hold and care for them through all phases of their becoming. Their instability leads towards iterations of what something can become when vulnerable; suggesting a transition that stretches beyond the present. Can they be like a polished stone? Tumbled into a new form, retaining their essence while accumulating a story through shedding parts of themselves? Can their state be impermanent, their existence as something ceramic perpetually in motion?