My sculptures begin with a tiny moment in time or memory that sparks an intrigue, generally a mundane sort of encounter, but something innate provokes a tangent... the curious wobble of a crooked wheel or the manner in which a cluster of protruding nose hairs twist about, each not daring to initiate a disturbance for fear of being plucked like their former siblings. This curiosity gently pokes and prods, then boils and bubbles, then slaps and sizzles, then scratches and screams until it has imprinted itself so deeply into my subconscious that only birthing it into being can free me of the relentless musings.
Humor is as inherent to my work as random encounter, no matter how somber the subject. Absurdity knows no bounds and weaves its way through the muck and the miscellaneous, sensing it's the star of the show, but perhaps only serving as an enticing facade. While an image has been seared into my mind of how these abominations of the psyche must take form, creation and emersion amongst materials and processes is where the story unfolds. For, as curious as I find these little eccentricities of society and the world that surrounds me, I really am more invested as to why and how I must explore such an often place utterly not exquisite thing and transform it for everyone or anyone to ponder. Why must I include a specific texture that requires 13 times the amount of leg work, fidget and fiddle with the tiniest detail while others flaunt their unkempt-ness These studio dramedies offer tidbits of insight into my future musings, though rarely prevent similar struggles. Analyzation escorts me to the ballpark, but time and distance truly offer the only recipe for clarity.
My current work attempts to question the nature of eccentricities displayed by fellow human beings I have encountered, whether recently or long ago (relatively speaking, of course). The potency of such encounters seems to suggest a synergistic collaboration amongst otherwise independent quirks that have miraculously happened upon one another in a fashion so intense, it causes such anguish/joy/mesmerization. These happenstance occurrences lead me to investigate ideas of cultural confluence, dilution and appropriation. Once the transmutation takes place, is it a synergistic concoction that remains, or more of a muddied tributary? Are the members of the inspiration recognizable or even present at all? I hope so, but I hope what survives has become something also very different.