The first large figurative sculpture I made in clay collapsed three times before I got it into the kiln.  When I finally rebuilt it successfully, I used the broken pieces from an earlier collapse as building blocks.  My solution to this struggle changed my vocabulary of accidents in my work from catastrophe to transformation.  Mistakes became opportunities in disguise.  When I began this body of work, I had just been involved in a serious automobile accident where my spine was severely injured.  The corrective surgery was even more violent and painful than the initial injury.  These experiences instantly shattered my young ideas that I had complete control over my life, and that the world functions within parameters of order and justice. 

     Ceramic materials refuse to allow me to pursue perfection, and this quality has become especially meaningful to me as I learn to cope with the pain and imperfections in my body.  Crusty, cracked, broken, and otherwise disregarded objects are beautiful to me, because in their flaws I see an innately human quality.  Ceramic materials lend themselves to this aesthetic, the process of breaking, and the loss of control.  This is why my work is rooted in clay.

     How I choose to interact with ceramic materials is directly motivated by my observations of and endless fascination with the human psyche.  Using the figure is the most direct way to communicate this, while also giving me a formal structure to explore process, method, and material.  My work is an attempt to understand the mind, body and their relationship, thus creating the endless search.  The connection  between fragility and incredible resilience is the human condition.  These figures are my physical realization of the unthinkable, that our bodies and lives are so fragile, and that despite this chaos, the infinite ability to heal lives within us all.  This is the heart of my work.