Growing up, my sister, without falter, would tell me how observant I was. She always commented on my memory too, claiming I could remember anything. She still does and I still can't. I never really heard her until much later when her words resounded as I began to distill the
imagery and experiences I had absorbed so fiendishly through my life.
My mother's art studio was a constant source of wonderment and inspiration for me, and still is. I spent endless hours with her and undoubtedly my work in a large part is an extension of her brilliance and vision, as I'm sure it always will be.
I had so many visions of the world through the water in the pool my father coached at. I would float and look skyward through the retracted roof in the late springtime and hear his voice encouraging his divers. His philosophy of living in the present moment, his adventurousness, love for people, and sincerity, that he guided me toward, are what have allowed me to navigate my way through the world
as an artist, and moreover, as an honest human.
I work in cast metals because of their permanence: they challenge you to make something worth lasting. Sculpting is a testament to the lives of my ancestors and what I surely inherited from them and their infinite collective mind. I cherish and revere a medium that reminds
me of my mortality. Whether I'm charging the furnace or 'dropping the bed' it all reverberates in my blood.