I’ve always made things. As a kid I would spend hours digging in the ground making an army of bizarre, little clay and stick figures. Three-legged dogs and winged monkeys, my creations were always a little sad, a little misshapen. My own troop of misfits set in the sun to dry. They were my inner workings made outward. I approach making art now much in the same way, trying to make sense of the world by making the intangible real. A compulsion to make thoughts, emotions, stories, the absurd and the melancholy into something absolute.