My hands can’t help it. They must put my mark on things to give me the drama and awe I have never gotten enough of or to dig the hole I sometimes need to put my head in. I follow what embarrasses me. I paint because I need somewhere to put the too-muchness. I make prints because I need somewhere to leave the evidence. I let objects hold ideas too heavy for me to carry alone and I make real fake documents with my camera. The work is more of a skin than a window. It’s the surface where we meet. It came from navigating the impossible chaos of my visual reference system over time with countless layers of nuanced color and shameless quotes from art history tangled up with my own to an indecipherable measure. My process is sticky and slippery (it's been feeling also hairy lately) because I am unable to leave my work until I recognize within it, a complete unknown. I make things for myself and to be with you. They are tangible howls and echoes of a feral domestic.


In addition to being a lover, a mother, a stranger to no one, I am a studio art instructor in the Department of Art, Art History and Design at the University of Alabama in Huntsville and leave my mark on anything that will have it. My current studio is located in the feral space of a gestalt shift.