My work is an interrogation of space and the concept of containment. For as long as I can remember, the experience of navigating the world has required a careful negotiation between the internal self and the external expectation, a perpetual masking that constructs a somatic cage. My practice is the undoing of that enclosure. It is an intentional, visual migration toward absolute autonomy and willing exposure.
Through oil, acrylic, and digital media, I construct an escape. These are not passive records of nature, but psychological topographies of boundlessness. The horizon line functions as a site of radical possibility, a boundary that exists only to be dissolved. In the wild, unpeeled expanses of the natural world, the performance of the self becomes obsolete.
By layering color and light to create weightless environments, I am seeking a visual language for flight. These pieces are environments of sensory relief, stripped of social architecture and claustrophobia. They operate as portals of refusal: a deliberate turning away from the prescribed shapes of daily existence and an immersion into a wilderness where the spirit is no longer required to hide, to adapt, to apologize.
The sun slings itself across the white wall like a martyred yellow beast, and in its light the dust is made holy. Most would call the space a room, but it is a world. It is a colloidal sea of microscopic lives and familial histories, swirling in the draft from the door. I know that in between the particles of air there is a wildness that never sleeps. It is life's potential.
I am a wife, a mother, a coworker, and a person who plays at craft, who pretends in visual imagery. And this is where I live. Sparking.
I have no tales of great wars or the conquering of peaks. My battles are fought in the shift of a shadow or decisions in minutia. My adventures are charted in the transition from a cold gray to a living green. And I do not apologize for that.
There are days when the fog rolls in from the soul’s coast without a word of warning, more days than I'd like to admit. And so, I paint. I build layers of pigment like piling stones against a rising tide. And that act punctures the murk.
There, I work to map the wild that breathes inside, wringing from anxiety a sanctuary. There, phantom images emerge, dissolve, and re-form. Recollection, and material response unfold in real time. What results is an image that resists completion, hovering between what is seen and what is remembered. The places that surface are unstable and indeterminate, echoes perpetually in the process of becoming.
