ment
As quickly as I make art, I make jokes. Humor, vulnerability, and frustration color not just my work but the way I move through the world. I am always in my body, and always in my mind; the uneasy distance between the two affect the content and construction of my sculptures. They’re both gross. While I daydream, peristalsis ripples through my intestines completely unbeknownst to me. I value multiplicity above all else, and I span mediums and approaches to create bodies, pieces, creatures, and motifs that shift their weight awkwardly from foot to foot where they’re displayed. My pieces command and distort their surroundings, though they might sometimes do it bashfully. The work is often like a reflection in a funhouse mirror- fabric, latex, yarn, and found objects collaged into something like me, something like you, something much like a dog but not quite.
It was early in my career that I knew I wouldn’t create ornately, precisely, or even strictly beautifully. I choose content that is grotesque, or that I make grotesque– organs, insides, animals, castration, the perils of femininity– and render it with humble materials that would be at home in the junk drawer (embroidery floss, nylon, polyfill, plaster). I’m fascinated by the tension this creates between subject and material, between gross and soft, between laughter and apprehension. In recontextualizing the familiar, I ask my audience to confront the truth that dwells in humor and question their instinct to recoil or reach out. Do you still want to touch soft pillows if they’re entrails?