artist's statement
I came to know art in a house without fine art. In my parents’ home, objects and images were valued for how they were loved and labored over, with no other apparent hierarchy. Bull horns hung next to my grandfather’s beautiful watercolor landscapes, cheaply framed children’s drawings beside wheat stalk weavings, calendar cut-outs from years long past shared equal billing with oil paintings, and for reasons I still can’t explain, a paper mache Rodney Dangerfield sat on our living room couch for years. Though my family moved frequently- no army brat, just the daughter of parents with equal parts gypsy blood, wanderlust, and optimism- these same items adorned each new place and made it feel like home. There was, for me, a palpable tension between the pedestrian nature of the objects and the heightened value they attained through our appreciation of them. In their eclectic sincerity, they are the basis of my visual language.