I grew up in New England in budding suburbia, surrounded by dwindling farms and acres of woods. My playgrounds were in and around abandoned farm equipment, vehicles, and buildings that dotted the area. My friends and I spent hours exploring — climbing and digging, finding remnants of unidentifiable machinery parts, old tools, pieces of die-cut metal, and random parts of buildings. We enjoyed the imagined stories and tidbits of history that emanated from these fragments. At home, there was an abundance of weird things like electric meters, X-Ray machine parts, radiation bulbs, and architectural renderings from my father’s business selling X-Ray equipment. I learned things like soldering, how to test for electrical currents, and mechanical drawing.


Years later, as I make art, I find recollections of those objects emerging in my work. Once again, the idiosyncratic, die-cut, sometimes weatherworn, and oddly humorous surfaces, forms, and colors of those artifacts captivate me.


Exploring both two and three dimensions, I experiment with the contrasts between handmade and machine made sensibilities. The repurposed cardboard in the assemblages, the imagery in the paintings, and the detritus and wood used for sculptures are combined, connected, and juxtaposed in order to construct, deconstruct, and rearrange space that is reminiscent of the past.