This is the wall text I had next to my installation, Surface Layers:
I know my finger; I know its shape, its scale, I know the tiny rivulets that spiral on its surface. Yet when my finger touches something hot, cold, rough or smooth, my finger's world expands as I absorb information about these other surfaces. Despite the layers of skin that separate the cavities of my body from the outside world, these perceptions seep through. I spend ages comparing how I internally experience the world to what I am externally led to believe a healthy human body should be. Language, a seemingly objective form of communication, can be used to establish a universalized ideal of anatomy. However, one's body can never be anything but subjective. Everyone experiences the world differently and sensations can seem beyond verbal communication. How often does one encounter a feeling that words can't describe? Art is the medium through which I attempt to communicate these emotions and find a way to accept the unique human form that I, as well as every other being, inhabits.
I use the inside of the mouth, the ridges of the spine, and the tips of toes as representatives of the most sensitive elements of the human form, where exaggerated experience is most present. By forcing the extension of these tactile anatomical elements, through abstract three-dimensional constructs, I want viewers to feel the pressure behind the forms and perhaps find shells in which they can see themselves.
Each piece contains an element that was appropriated from a former work. Often, this involves violently ripping or carving a material free from its former container. I then integrate the material into a new project. This destruction and re-creation represent the way that our bodies are constantly forming, dying and then forming anew. While our image may remain constant on the outside, every skin cell dies and is replaced once every seven years. Thus, becoming attached to the body as it is now and trying desperately to keep it from evolving into something new is a futile attempt.
Drawing is the core of my practice because it holds the residue of an artist's movements and a sense of bodily presence. I call my process "drawing in space" because I use linear gesture whether I am putting charcoal to paper or looping wires. Materials are also key - I rely on translucent fabrics, plastics, and adhesives because they both disclose and conceal, much like our permeable skin. The fragile materials change depending on the environment. I seek delicacy because I want to force recognition of how susceptible our bodies are to damage but also how lovely they are due to their transformations.
The pieces are a record of the human condition of entropy. I spend hours wrapping and draping material. I then drip and melt on top of these preciously created bodies so that globs build up and seep into puddles of revulsion. This process is a reflection of my desire to embrace bodily deterioration, such as scars, bruises, sagging skin, and broken nails, as a reminder of who I am, where I've been and the sensations I've collected along the way. I want to find a way to put myself back into my own skin instead of being caught in some notion of an idealized form. Skin, both protective and vulnerable, is my motif because it is, at the most basic level, the porous bridge that provides a gateway between my internal experience and my relationship with the rest of the world."