I live and thrive in an environment that is completely oppositional to my work. A Brooklynite for over thirty-five years, I love the mad pace and drive of the city, and yet my work is quiet, reductive, and otherworldly, with a subtle surrealistic undertone. I pare the subject down to its essential element: an opening, a sphere, a pod, a teardrop. Such distillation infuses the work with symbolism that is both personal and universal. Growing up in bucolic Oregon, I am comfortable in and comforted by timeless, serene surroundings. This was later reinforced by an extended stay in Japan, the aesthetics of which continue to inspire my practice. From my family, I learned to value our fragile environment and the rights of all people. I grew up to become a pacifist and believe that diplomacy can solve more than war. These values occasionally become the focus of my practice, as in the recently completed Tears of Despair, a Year of Terror.
My experience as artist is woven into all other aspects of my life. I am a sculptor, but now create wall pieces that are both sculptural and two-dimensional as well as short, lopped videos that I categorize more as still images perpetually in motion. In my work the medium and technique changes: at one point it was slate, tin and wax; later, paper as a sculptural material; more recently pigment and paint; and now borosilicate glass. I often mix materials in unconventional ways. It is the form, not the material, that is paramount.
My studio is my sanctuary. I enter, close the door: it is timeless and without seasons, little outside noise, no phone, no people, no work other than my artwork. I work; the images and objects come out. I am keenly aware of the shapes and colors I select. I labor over the contrast and subtleties of line, form and hue. There are times in the process that the work becomes meditative. Repeating images, repeating tasks, I lose myself in my work.
Tears of Joy and Sorrow (detail), borosilicate glass, 2016