14x21 in. Oil on paper.
2019
Limited Edition Prints: Sold Out
SOLD
GATHERING
22x23 in.
Acrylic on paper.
2019
15"x19", Graphite on paper
2020
Available for purchase via Antler Gallery
What does the core of you speak and how often is it at odds with itself? Can you make room for this?
✺
Each heart is a question
In need of discernment
A sense of the ways you could move
And have
The knowledge, the hope, the dangling confusion
The life blood hampered in vein
The ten intuitions :
Temperature
The texture and clarity of the air in any room
Knowing when someone loves you
Knowing when someone doesn’t
The mystery held in each living thing
The mystery held in stone
How to get to point a to point b without tripping
How to let yourself fall flat on your face
How to mend a broken bone
And don’t forget resurrection
For purchasing information please email gallerist@talongallery.com
Gouace and pencil on paper
12.5 x 12.5 in.
2019
18 x 22 in. Mixed medium on paper. 2016
SOLD
Light lives everywhere: no legs, no breath, no need for shoes. Its unmooring effortless, nothing in tow. No need for hands: it does not take itself to be responsible. Light carries nothing, and the place it thinks, it is.”
-Segment of poem from Jan Zwicky in “Songs for Relinquishing the Earth
We often hope to outrun our growing pains, this notion of actualizing, of achieving a place where we will understand and no longer need to wrestle through our daily lives. The falsity that wisdom is stable and being good is doing things right.
We keep growing. We talk to ourselves, and I wonder who that other is- the one we are asking the questions to, or defending ourselves against, or silencing. We are not stable beings with stable answers, I cannot brainstorm a single thing that is. So we must keep learning, keep walking forward, keep being reintroduced to our new self, the one that’s taking in humanity, the one that knows wisdom is flexible and forgiving, the bend of a snakes back. We must be courageous to love ourselves, and be brave to stand up for others. We matter, our thoughts and bodies matter, our ideas and neighbors and earth matters. And as long as things matter, then we must continue to look for ourselves, and see how to grow next, one heartbeat at a time.
15"x17", Graphite on paper.
2020
Original Sold
I am a slow breather,
who collapses inward
A rigorous churner
of gathering core.
15x19 in. Graphite on paper.
2020
Available for purchase via Antler Gallery.
Where have you been keeping yourself in pain and how does one release the grip of control? Colliding In Reverse is about that process of letting, of loosening after everything became bound so tight in fear. How do we open back up, how do we let ourselves?
15x30 in.
acrylic on paper
2018
When words defeat me
You say
Light remains light
A hand still a hand
Love abundant in its many
Unnameable forms
It is here for you
It is here for us
And may we learn to rest
In it’s unspoken mysteries.
11x14 in. Watercolor and Graphite on Paper. 2017.
SOLD
Open Edition Prints available in my online store.
Info:
Some questions seem to have no answers. The pain of them lingers somewhere deep in the body, invisible because it’s so built into our structures we can’t see it. It’s built into our foundation, our bones— it’s hidden inside the sturdy stable thing that holds everything else together. I don’t know how to go about picking it apart but I know it needs to reveal itself, it needs to change. Something needs to erupt forth and blossom anew if I can muster the bravery to bear it.
The question is then, how do we change the foundation to allow the core to blossom. Can I, the true me, the secret me beneath myself, the one that is separate from the social norms and parent’s expectations, the one who thinks unusual things in unusual ways, can I invade myself and pop up like weeds, blossoming in every nook and corner. Can I replace myself?
It hurts to move forward. I often feel paralyzed, so tender and so in need of being comforted. I wonder if this new skeleton can embrace me, can hold the current me that is so delicate?
Who is the I to which I speak in my mind? Who is the truth that works on instinct and deep knowledge, that internal decision maker I have to yet learn how to trust? Why did no one ever tell me she was there, and why did it take so long for me to realize how desperately I need her?
I hope we can fall apart so that we can rebuild something integral, that we can bloom like the dandelion and spread our seeds in the winds of change, and grow a new skeleton in which to lean into. I hope in learning to look at the thing behind the thing, our vulnerability can find comfort in asking the questions together.
I hope.
I feel.
I know.
I am.
Delicate, and possible.
15"x19", Graphite on paper
2020
Original Sold.
Prints available in shop.
What fragile bits do we want to protect and does protecting them form a new cage? What is our system of self preservation?
❂
You are only as trapped as the strength of your cage
You are only as protected as the pith of your bones
You are held together by your own making
Knit from a growing history.
Wrappings of preservation
and evaporation alike.
15"x19", Graphite on paper
2020
Sold.
Who taught you what you are and are not allowed to feel, and what would be a more loving system to incorporate?
29 x 21 in. Float framed to 25.5 x 34 in. in a natural maple wood frame. Graphite, watercolor and gouache on paper. 2018.
Original SOLD
Limited Edition prints are available in my online store.
14.75 x 18.75 in.
gouache and graphite on paper.
2018. SOLD
When we do not know the answer to the burdens we carry, they sit, tangled on our backs. A growing mess of uncertainty, weighing down our decision making abilities. Often, the weight of this mass creates the compulsion for change, unable to sit any longer in the hurt. When we jump, we take flight for a moment into the unknown, but nothing can stay in the air forever. It is the information learned from having to carry that burden that becomes our very feet, our way to land on the ground again; a newly formed knowledge that although we carry mistakes, it is on those memories we learned to walk stronger. The Bearer of Obscurity is this experience in corporeal form, and when we see it flying about, we remember the flight of our own uncertainty.
Gouache on paper
12.75 x 17 in. 2018
Sold.
The Cordyceps Ignota fungi or “Zombi Fungi” takes over unsuspecting prey by branching through it’s body and bursting out it’s exoskeleton to release its spores and restart their life cycle. They often attack tarantulas, ants and other insects. I was thinking about the metaphor of this phenomena, the way negative ideas infect humans much the same way, working through their bodies and lives, then expanding outward and wider as they tear through us. We might call them the “shoulds”.
Tarantulas molt their exoskeletons as they grow, shedding off their old skin and appearing new, bendy, and soft. I wondered how this experience could interact with the metaphor, if we too could shed the bad truths we were taught about ourselves, and give up the alternate lives we “should” have lead. Those dreams we hoped for but weren’t possible, the chimera of the lives we didn’t get to live because of outside forces vs. internal ones.
This piece is my hope we can emerge, soft, flexible, and a little bit bigger than our old lives. I have this feeling that maybe with a bit work, we too can push out of versions that are just too small to hold the beauty inside, and let go of those chimera before they consume us. .
30 x 16.5 in. Float framed to 20 x 34 in. in a simple black frame with gold lip. Graphite on paper. 2018.
Original SOLD
20.75 x 29.25 in. Watercolor and Acrylic with ink on paper. 2016.
SOLD
An epoch. An era. An end and a shift. This is how things grow-they are born from the ashes of a time that is no longer true and the memory of that history that will help propel us forward to grow anew.
22 x 15 in. Framed to 16 x 22.5 in. in a natural maple wood frame with oval cut mat. Graphite and watercolor on paper. 2018.
Drawn for Bulleit Bourbon’s Ad Campaign.
SOLD
13.5 x 10.5 in. Watercolor and graphite on paper. 2018
SOLD
12 x 22 x 3 in. Porcelain and mixed media. 2018.
12 x 16 in. Watercolor on Paper. 2016
SOLD
The tenderness of that feeling. Of being in the wrong. Of being human and thus simple and complex. Of being something who grows slowly and compares oneself to others. Of being made of skin and bone and guts and guts and guts. The heart is just a piece, because remorse is felt in everything. —.
To be the other. The receiver of injury, the holder of a long built trust grown tenderly and seasonally like a berry, so delicious to taste but easy to bruise. To be the giver of forgiveness and welcomer of human mess. The heart is just here: available, confused. —.
We hold each other close. It cannot change without a bend. Together it’s a kind of delicate sharing and holding of parts and bits and information with delicacy, floating just above the known.
12.5 x 16.5 in. Framed to 16 x 22.5 in. in a simple black frame with gold lip and black mat. Acrylic and oil on paper. 2018.
Available for purchase, please contact for more information.
Graphite and watercolor on paper. 2017
22.25 x 21 Framed to: 24 x 25.5 in a maple hardwood frame
Available for purchase. Please email me for the price.
9 x 9 in.Float framed to 11x11 in. in a simple black frame with gold lip. Gouache on paper. 2018.
Original Sold.
Graphite and watercolor on paper, 2016
Image size: 8 x 11 in. vertical Framed to: 123/4 x 161/4 maple hardwood frame
SOLD
12.25 x 8×5 x 2.75, Porcelain and mixed medium
Available for purchase, please email me via my contact form for details.
Graphite and watercolor on paper, 2017.
Image size: 23 x 44 in framed to: 23 x 44 maple hardwood frame
Available for purchase. Please email me via my contact form for more information.
22 (l) x 6 (w) x 2 (h), Porcelain with acrylic. 2017.
20×27 in watercolor and marker on paper. 2017
Original Sold.
Acrylic and gold leaf on paper. 9×14 framed to 16×20. 2017
SOLD
8.5 x 21 in. Graphite on paper. 2016.
Available for purchase, please email me for details.
14 x 18 in. Acrylic on paper. 2016.
SOLD
5 x 9 in. Gouache on paper. 2017
SOLD
10.5 x 17.25 in. Watercolor and Gouache on paper. 2016.
SOLD
The shadow world has a caretaker, a keeper, a gentle friend. It knows every sickness in every body and it holds the memory of hurt. It is commonly believed that this creature is dark, a monster of ill spirit and malice, but according to the Ancient Wisdoms it is rather made of light and blossoms. It is a tender thing, with the embodied knowledge that pain does not separate us from beauty but rather binds us to it. It whispers reminders of self grace when things are just too hard, and sweetly reminds us how to bloom again from the darkness of the dirt.
Part of Unnatural Histories V at Antler Gallery, Portland OR.
10 in. diameter. Graphite on paper. 2016.
Available for purchase, please email me for details.
Graphite and watercolor on paper, 2017
Image size: 27.25 x 11 Framed to:123/4 x 283/4 maple hardwood frame
Sold.
13.5×17.5 in. Framed to 16×20.
Acrylic and gouache on paper, 2017.
SOLD
12×16 in. Graphite and watercolor on paper. 2016
SOLD
16 x 30 in. Graphite and acrylic on paper. 2016
Available for purchase, please email me for details.
I embrace myself, constantly, invisibly. There are layers of muscle, tissue and bone that come together and move in accordance with each other in ways that make up and define so much of my life. I do not believe I think first and thus exist, instead I’m quite certain there is something deeper and primordial in the body. She was here, learning and piecing together an ancient evolution, holding the patterns of millions of years before I had my first coherent thought. I grew into both my mind and body, but for some reason always regarded one as more important, having perverse expectations of what my body should be able to do or accomplish. I left her to sit too long, eat poison and deprive her of rest. I ignored her pains and her shouts. I thought she was small and below my philosophy and ideal. It took almost losing her to relearn and see all of that ancient wisdom, it took obtuse amounts of pain and healing to really begin how to learn to inhabit her. To take her in and drink her up, to learn tenderness and kindness toward her feeble bones. We all embrace ourselves, every day. Skin to muscle to tissue to bone, loosely wrapped in the angular constrictions of our mind. I’m learning to reveal myself. To open. To hold loosely and look inside, with an honest question, void of guilt or despair.
7.75 in. diameter. Acrylic on paper. 2016
SOLD
12 x 12 in. Graphite and watercolor on paper, mounted on a cradled panel. 2016
Available for Purchase, please email me for details.
16x2o in. Graphite on paper. 2016
“Wolves play a very important role in the ecosystems in which they live. Since 1995, when wolves were reintroduced to the American West, research has shown that in many places they have helped revitalize and restore ecosystems. They improve habitat and increase populations of countless species from birds of prey to pronghorn, and even trout. The presence of wolves influences the population and behavior of their prey, changing the browsing and foraging patterns of prey animals and how they move about the land. This, in turn, ripples throughout plant and animal communities, often altering the landscape itself. For this reason wolves are described as a “keystone species,” whose presence is vital to maintaining the health, structure and balance of ecosystems.” -Living With Wolves
Grass is a plant that has a way of coming back, no matter how many times it is cut. It is the most widespread plant type, and one of the most valuable food sources on the planet.
When I think about the wolf debate, I think about my hope for a return- a return of balance, a renewal of a population who has been cut back almost to the point of extinction. I’ve drawn a wolf skeleton, made of grass, housing a baby pronghorn deer- one of the many species that thrive with a higher wolf population (less coyotes stealing their babies). The life of this keystone species leads to other life, and through it’s comeback, much like the grass, it can house and help sustain a more prosperous future.
To learn more about wolves and the ecosystem, check out Living With Wolves.
For Bones show at Galerie F in Chicago. Sold.
14 x 18 in. Graphite and gold leaf on paper. 2016.
This piece is a personal mediation on what it means to exist in a broken body and find peace in pain. There are infinite ways to grow, and not all of them happen beautifully, but with keen eyes and deep breaths beauty can often be found in the liminal spaces, breaking open like a flower after rain.
Created for the Growth/Decay show at Paradigm Gallery. SOLD.
14×18 in. Graphite and watercolor on paper. 2016
Disability doesn’t mean inability. In Dante, Dis is the world of Shadow and Reflection. Disability is then rather, able through shadow and reflection. (Kevin Kling) When I reflect on my body and the shadows it’s kissed, I think of grass; a thin thing, mowed down over and over from disease and trauma. I like it because it is frail and common, yet incredibly resilient. Grass is the only plant that can be taken down to it’s roots repeatedly and with intense frequency and still thrive. I think on all of the times I’ve been broken down to square one: losing my health, my loved ones, or my knowledge of how things work. The frequency in which everything I know has been obliterated, and yet through it all I somehow come back, feels mysterious and strong. My body, though in pain, has a kind of wisdom and is teaching me to be present. I have some blunt edges now, but they feel like scars of resilience. And so I put this knowledge down. These aren’t skeletons because skeletons are cool (which they are!), they are they only way I know how to fully depict my dis-abled experience.
Created for the Growth/Decay Show via Antler Gallery. SOLD.
12×12 in. Watercolor on paper. 2016
SOLD
There is a name for every season, for every connection and moment. It’s buried deep, often unspeakable, but a knowledge we carry nonetheless. ‘Anthesis’ is the name for the time period in which a bud blooms, and while it is a technical term, I can’t help but apply it to all of the short bursting moments in my own life and something long cultivated came forth. There is surprise and mystery even within ourselves, and we are connected to it by invisible words; tied to it by invisible threads.
14×18 in. Graphite and watercolor on paper. 2015.
SOLD
14 x 14 in. Ballpoint, watercolor, graphite and ink. 2015
20 x 25 in. Ballpoint and ink. 2015
SOLD
5×7 in.Graphite. 2015. SOLD
12 x 12 in. Acrylic on paper. 2016. SOLD.
