Stillness is just a different kind of tension.
Images. Stills. Still life. It’s still life. Distilled life.
Everything we see exists. We can see it. I can see your eyes, but I cannot see my eyes without the help of a mirror. Even this image is not exact, for a mirror is not an object we look at, but a surface we look through to the image of something else. Whether we are looking in a mirror or looking at a screen, what we expect to see, what we are shown, and what is truly there--differ.
I consider myself a choreographer of objects, composing moments of indeterminate potential, each instant a cliffhanger ending. In exploring the space between sentences, in freezing and illustrating the moment between action and consequence, one can loop endlessly between the things that we have and the things that they pretend to be.
All judgments about the future are based on a prior understanding of the world and an understanding of time--the thing that makes it so that everything doesn’t happen at once.
Sculptural Work
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paper weight
paper, magnets
A suspended proposition.
The paper floats—not as symbol, not as spectacle, but as a question held mid-sentence. It resists gravity just enough to delay conclusion. Not grounded, not flying—caught in a moment that hasn’t chosen a direction. What it is doing is less important than what it might do. -
it will have been
live flowers, animated 3d rendering, screen, glass
A window that remembers being real.
Fresh flowers wilt while their rendered echoes remain untouched. One breathes and browns; the other loops without consequence. This is a study in surface and substitute—what we see, what we want to see, and what refuses to change. -
zugzwang
motor, magnets, coin
A decision delayed into infinity.
The coin never lands—held in motion, held in question. Choice is postponed, consequence suspended. As long as it spins, anything is possible. -
it will have been
live flowers, video, found objects, glass
A still life made for reflection.
The flowers wilt, but their image loops on—rendered, reflected, repeated. The screen replaces the window. What we see is no longer what is, but what insists on being seen. -
a pair of mirrors facing each other
live flowers, animated 3d renderings, found objects, glass
A still life made of stand-ins.
The teapot rotates in light, present only in image. The pipe stays covered, yet declared. What we see is staged—what we believe, already scripted. -
stolen material
decimated models of 3d captured objects
A copy of a copy, falling apart.
Captured, reduced, and printed again. The objects remain recognizable, but only barely—what’s missing speaks louder than what’s left. -
echoes
decimated 3d print of Michael Jackson’s glove, laser cut Michael Jackson album
A still life of distortion and reverberation.
A decimated glove, a sliced record—what remains is artifact and echo. Presence collapses into texture. The gesture outlives the hand. -
betta test
betta fish, motion-activated slip dispensers, turntable
An action misunderstood on purpose.
The fish swims, unaware. Sensors translate movement into material, turning instinct into artifact. The result is not expression—but evidence. -
untitled (unchained)
laser cut porcelain
A love song the clay couldn’t carry.
Cut by light, the porcelain vitrified mid-process. The data etched too deep, the surface sealed its sound away. -
composing a note
found typewriter, wind chimes
A sentence set to the wrong instrument.
Letters strike, chimes answer. Syntax becomes sound, but not sense. Communication drifts, out of tune but still ringing. -
eels
porcelain, lace, voice-activated fiberoptic lighting
A whisper with a tail.
Ceramic eels flicker when spoken to. Sound travels through their bodies as light—nervous, involuntary, electric. They listen without understanding, and respond without intention. -
canning wide mouths
stoneware, motion sensors, and servo motors
A still life with reflexes.
The mouths lie open until someone gets too close. Then—snap. It’s not aggression, just a habit of survival. -
murmuration
porcelain, lighting, and motion sensors
A flock that lights instead of flies.
As you pass, their bellies flicker—part warning, part echo. It’s not flight, but it’s still a response. -
fireflies
porcelain, lace, and LED lights
A pattern borrowed from the dark.
They flicker like fireflies—steady, silent, and untranslatable. Not signaling, just being.