My work is a form of reconstruction, both materially and personally. After I ended my marriage and came out as gay six years ago, I had to rebuild not only my circumstances but also my sense of self. That process of rebuilding—taking things apart and reassembling them in new ways—parallels what I do in my studio. Each sculpture is a physical manifestation of persistence, of reshaping what already exists into something new and unexpected. My artwork has become a place where I can regain a sense of order and structure when life is filled with uncertainty. 
The materials I use drive my creative process. Paper and reclaimed wood, though they exist in a state that is far removed from their natural origins, have a life of their own. We use paper to record our ideas and wood to construct our environments. I take these materials out of their primarily utilitarian place to explore and investigate new identities and ways for them to exist. By painting wood monochromatically, I mask much of its recognizable history. This act of erasure is both aesthetic and symbolic. The old life of the object is removed, and what remains is something new but still familiar. 
My process is rooted in experimentation, intuition, and persistence. Rarely do I begin with a fixed outcome in mind. I manipulate the materials by disassembling, cutting, folding, and layering them, letting ideas emerge through the act of transformation. By modifying and re-assembling these elements, I can experience something that I haven’t seen before. I build and rebuild, piece by piece, as I search for new meaning in these objects. This act of constructing three-dimensional collage is where discovery happens. My process is one of patience, problem-solving, and continual adjustment—trusting that the act of working will lead me to what I’m seeking.
My sculptures often suggest architecture, machinery, or remnants of an imagined civilization. They might feel organic or mechanical, precise or improvised. I think of them as artifacts from another place or time, compelling viewers to construct meaning from their fragments.
I want viewers to experience a sense of wonder, curiosity, and even disorientation. I hope they question how a piece was made, or what it once was. My work challenges assumptions about materials, about art, and about transformation itself. Through creating, I attempt to reveal the beauty of uncertainty—the moment when a once-familiar form or object becomes something else. My sculptures are records of that transformation: quiet but insistent evidence of persistence, adaptation, and the possibility of renewal.