I make trophies, ornaments, memorials and altars commemorating seemingly incongruous themes of decadence and violence, loss and redemption, psychic vulnerability and social antagonism.

Familiar objects become more than idle props as they develop corporeal features. Often, they are slashed, splayed, or unhinged, revealing a surprisingly lush, fertile interior. Suggestive of life-sustaining fluids and tissue, forms are padded with red velvet, embued with pink satin ruffles, lined with emptied membranes made from stretched out stockings.. spewing forth, spraying, oozing pearls and scarlet beads.

Conversely, authentic carnal matter is treated as decorative,or craft material. Hair which has fallen out of my head is obsessively collected from the laundry, the sheets, the shower and the floor-boards ends up as...a doily. Fingernail clippings are pieced together in patterns of lace and snowflakes. The vestiges from my daily existence and subsequent decomposition or wastefulness could include anything from laundry lint to an exceptional amassment of plastic bags. They count. I use them.

I experience most things physically and almost always tacitly. I don't know how else to say this: One moment, I'm a perfectly ripe fruit filled with a bounty of lucious gleaming seeds. The next, I'm a vessel for thirsty parasites. I often feel like the cave woman who got invited to tea.