what I am making

My artistic practice is a bit of a moving target. One day I’m weaving, the next I’m pushing around a lump of clay, and another I’m painting or drawing. For a long time this felt like a problem—like I should have a clearer answer when people ask what I do. But the truth is, my work doesn’t live in one lane. It moves between abstraction and representation, between the conceptual and the everyday.

At its core, my practice is rooted in domestic life and caregiving. It’s shaped by repetition, maintenance, and the quiet, often invisible labor that fills a day. I’m interested in the things we overlook—the worn objects, the small gestures, the rhythms of keeping a home and caring for others. These experiences show up in my work not always literally, but through process: stitching, layering, reworking, repeating.

My studio is my playground, but it’s also my workspace in the truest sense. It’s where I get my hands dirty, where I work through emotions, frustrations, and questions that don’t have easy answers. I use whatever materials feel right in the moment—textiles, paint, found objects—letting them carry some of the weight of the ideas I’m trying to understand.

Making, for me, is a way of thinking. It’s how I process the complexity of everyday life—the beauty, the monotony, the care, the strain. My work is less about arriving at a fixed outcome and more about staying in that space of inquiry, where something honest can take shape.

Raven Through the Branches

A circular cut-out of a raven in flight, weaving through branches. Drawn from a lifelong fascination with crows and ravens—and the recent joy of gathering my own “murder”—this piece captures both their quiet intelligence and the feeling of being in their presence.

Paper & Digital
5” x 5”

Mini Seaweed

At some point, I began painting sheets of paper and cutting them into small, intuitive collages. These mini arrangements became a kind of release—a quieter, more playful counterpoint to the heavier work I was making during my MFA.

Paper, gouache
2” x 1.4”
4” x 3” framed

Mini Chairs

Much of my work is small, handheld, and approachable. The chair appears often—a quiet, familiar form that’s easy to overlook, yet carries the weight of daily life, presence, and absence.

Paper, Gansai, Ink
3.5” x 3.5”