About

Statement

I make work that will hold you.

I use film, sculpture, text and installation. My films are sensory and tactile. I want you to feel rooted in the body, aware of your breath, your tendons. When I touch a leaf, I want you to feel touched. I build worlds within tiny confines: a box, a bed, a garden. 

My writing is fragmented, jumping between high and low register, bitchy little anecdotes and manifesto. I often address the female mystics: St Teresa of Avila, Catherine of Siena, Margery Kempe and her constant crying. 

I think through my hands but my hands hurt often. I am a scruncher, a builder-upper. I take household items, tinfoil, tape and wire, and squeeze shapes that make you feel something. I combine cartoonish, DIY elements with ambitious grandiosity. In Slime Mother, I recreated Rodin’s The Kiss, with two 8-foot long jesmonite slugs wrapped around a massive disco ball. 3 floating sluggy comrades rotated, eerily - a slug orgy. Elvis crooned in the background. It was absurd and awe-inspiring all at once. I scattered bean bags underneath the slugs to create a site of transformative healing and rest.

I believe sensory intervention can be used to manifest other worlds and ways of being. I am moved by wetness, viscosity: one drip falling in slow motion, a jelly that jiggles when it’s slapped. In Sanatorium, I ask, how can my aching body become more like water? In Slugs: A Manifesto, I ask, how can I become less horrified by a creature that oozes slime?

I’m obsessed with the politics of space. I prefer to relinquish control in my artwork. I built a clay slip fountain that the public could dip hands into, then rub tentacle fingers over the gallery walls. Above read, Have no shame for the marks of your wetness. I enjoyed the gallery’s concerns about cleaning off obscenities and mopping drips. I insisted on doing neither.