Making things; Human beings have a remarkable ability to make things in vast abundance. So, I follow in the footsteps of my species, and pursue my innate capacity to create. I make big things, small things, copies of things, right things, wrong things, and unexpected things. My favorite things to make are meticulously constructed cardboard sets that mimic architectural spaces and inanimate objects. Drawing from my background in ceramics I embrace the tactile process of molding and shaping materials by hand. By carefully lighting and photographing these sculptures, another element of manipulation is introduced, transforming three-dimensional objects into flat images. Through this process, I explore photography’s capacity for both depiction and deception, creating new spatial illusions on the 2D surface. Black and white imagery helps me further obscure the material origins of my sculptures, crafting spaces that untether viewers from a clear sense of reality. I’m very good at making things; not so good at writing about them. In the words of Steve Martin, “Some people have a way with words, and other people...oh, uh, not have way.” Finding myself at home in the “not have way” category, here are some quotes that resonate deeply and help define my practice. In Gaston Bachelard’s book “The Poetics of Space,” he describes, “[the] house is first a geometrical object of planes and right angles, [and asks his reader] to ponder how such rectilinearity so welcomes human complexity, idiosyncrasy, [and] how the house adapts to its inhabitants. [There is an] impact of human habitation on geometrical form and (an) impact of the form upon human inhabitants.” Gaston also writes, “The house is a nest for dreaming, a shelter for imagining […] people need houses in order to dream, in order to imagine.” I strive to imagine places that lean into the eerie. In his book The Weird and the Eerie, theorist Mark Fisher differentiates the eerie from what is strictly odd or uncanny, with the stipulation that its origins remain unknown: “When knowledge is achieved, the eerie disappears [. . .] not all mysteries generate the eerie. There must also be a sense of alterity, a feeling that the enigma might involve forms of knowledge, subjectivity, and sensation that lie beyond common experience.” Fisher goes on to say that “behind all of the manifestations of the eerie, the central enigma at its core is the problem of agency.” I relate with photographer Erin O’Keefe in her book “How are Things.” In it she recounts her interest in “the dissonance between real space and image space - the slippages and misreadings and the sense of the infinite mutability [becomes] a focus [. . .] both in a way the ‘real’ space [is] constructed and the way photography can convey that [. . .] She describes her images as studies of uncertainty… “You are left with just the image and its wrongness-you can never backtrack to compare, although the question of how it was made is still present.”

Making things; Human beings have a remarkable ability to make things in vast abundance. So, I follow in the footsteps of my species, and pursue my innate capacity to create. I make big things, small things, copies of things, right things, wrong things, and unexpected things. My favorite things to make are meticulously constructed cardboard sets that mimic architectural spaces and inanimate objects. Drawing from my background in ceramics I embrace the tactile process of molding and shaping materials by hand. By carefully lighting and photographing these sculptures, another element of manipulation is introduced, transforming three-dimensional objects into flat images. Through this process, I explore photography’s capacity for both depiction and deception, creating new spatial illusions on the 2D surface. Black and white imagery helps me further obscure the material origins of my sculptures, crafting spaces that untether viewers from a clear sense of reality. I’m very good at making things; not so good at writing about them. In the words of Steve Martin, “Some people have a way with words, and other people...oh, uh, not have way.” Finding myself at home in the “not have way” category, here are some quotes that resonate deeply and help define my practice. In Gaston Bachelard’s book “The Poetics of Space,” he describes, “[the] house is first a geometrical object of planes and right angles, [and asks his reader] to ponder how such rectilinearity so welcomes human complexity, idiosyncrasy, [and] how the house adapts to its inhabitants. [There is an] impact of human habitation on geometrical form and (an) impact of the form upon human inhabitants.” Gaston also writes, “The house is a nest for dreaming, a shelter for imagining […] people need houses in order to dream, in order to imagine.” I strive to imagine places that lean into the eerie. In his book The Weird and the Eerie, theorist Mark Fisher differentiates the eerie from what is strictly odd or uncanny, with the stipulation that its origins remain unknown: “When knowledge is achieved, the eerie disappears [. . .] not all mysteries generate the eerie. There must also be a sense of alterity, a feeling that the enigma might involve forms of knowledge, subjectivity, and sensation that lie beyond common experience.” Fisher goes on to say that “behind all of the manifestations of the eerie, the central enigma at its core is the problem of agency.” I relate with photographer Erin O’Keefe in her book “How are Things.” In it she recounts her interest in “the dissonance between real space and image space - the slippages and misreadings and the sense of the infinite mutability [becomes] a focus [. . .] both in a way the ‘real’ space [is] constructed and the way photography can convey that [. . .] She describes her images as studies of uncertainty… “You are left with just the image and its wrongness-you can never backtrack to compare, although the question of how it was made is still present.”