I'm a perfectly ripe fruit filled with a bounty of luscious pulp and sticky seeds. I'm a vessel for thirsty parasites. I'm cave woman who got invited to tea.

I make trophies, ornaments, memorials and altars commemorating the uneasy collision of decadence and deceit, idealistic fantasy and exploitive violence,psychic vulnerabiltity and physical trauma.
Familiar objects become more than just idle props as they develop corporeal features. They are slashed, splayed, or unhinged, revealing a surprisingly lush and fertile interior (an open invitation for scavengers, often). Suggestive of life-sustaining fluids and tissue, forms are padded with red velvet, imbued 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 incidental 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 are marked by anything from carefully modeled lint to salt deposits on rusting pins.

My insides are alien. My thoughts are inside-out.