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.