Artist Statement
After decades of working in a structured, outcome-driven world, retirement has given me something rare: time without urgency. Time to notice, to wander, to follow curiosity without a prescribed result. In this space, I’ve come to understand that sculpture is my love language.
I speak through objects and form.
I may gather things that have been used, touched, discarded—objects that carry the imprint of human life. Whether I’m working with found materials, bending neon, setting mosaic, or shaping steel, the medium itself is becoming less important than the relationship I’m building with the object. Each piece begins as something with a past, and my role is not to erase that history, but to listen to it, respond to it, and offer it a new way of being seen.
Neon brings breath and light. Mosaic reveals what’s beneath the surface. Steel gives weight and structure. Found objects carry memory. But increasingly, these are just dialects of the same language.
What matters most now is the interaction—how a viewer approaches a piece, circles it, pauses, recognizes something familiar or unexpected. How an object, once overlooked, begins to speak again.
Retirement has given me something rare: time—unstructured, unclaimed time to experiment and explore without constraint. My work now moves without permission, without performance, without the need to justify—guided instead by intuition, play, and listening.
I speak through objects and form.
I may gather things that have been used, touched, discarded—objects that carry the imprint of human life. Whether I’m working with found materials, bending neon, setting mosaic, or shaping steel, the medium itself is becoming less important than the relationship I’m building with the object. Each piece begins as something with a past, and my role is not to erase that history, but to listen to it, respond to it, and offer it a new way of being seen.
Neon brings breath and light. Mosaic reveals what’s beneath the surface. Steel gives weight and structure. Found objects carry memory. But increasingly, these are just dialects of the same language.
What matters most now is the interaction—how a viewer approaches a piece, circles it, pauses, recognizes something familiar or unexpected. How an object, once overlooked, begins to speak again.
Retirement has given me something rare: time—unstructured, unclaimed time to experiment and explore without constraint. My work now moves without permission, without performance, without the need to justify—guided instead by intuition, play, and listening.