The richness of the world is almost overwhelming, crowding in at us from all sides and using every sense organ to make itself known. In my art I process this sensory overload by simplifying and focusing, by gathering up and presenting little stories people and objects tell as they relate to each other visually in space and time. I believe all the passions and problems of the living world can be read in the gestures of family members, in the tender or aggressive play of young children, in the glance of a dog at her owner’s hand, in the way a passing cloud reflects in a pond, and even in the way humble still-life objects cast shadows on a tablecloth.

When I paint or photograph, I create a picture of stillness pregnant with impending movement: a moment held in suspension, inviting the viewer's contemplation. I often construct little worlds reminiscent of the shoebox dioramas I loved to make as a child, juxtaposing objects and people in mute dialogue. Teacups, trees and apples may seem alive with the same emotions and motivations as people. Humans may seem like architecture, or animals. People’s identities may appear confused, their normative boundaries inconsistent. Unexpected or inexplicable details in an image may trip up the viewer’s accustomed visual progression causing them to stop and look again. I love such “speed bump” moments which cause us to pause, to appreciate something new in a familiar situation. Such pausing can help us see past the veil of our assumptions, allowing a brief glimpse into the boundless universes contained within things we think we know so well but which are more complex than we can possibly comprehend. I like to remind myself of the profound unknowableness of the known world.