Often when I make sculpture, I lose all track of time. The tool edge carves its path into the surface, but I am no longer there. The distinction between me and the work has vanished. During that moment, there is only the work.

Although the initial seed of my work is always rooted in ideas, my working process is entirely sensory. I become the antenna for external information. From the work itself I learn what to do next

Primitive tools and ritual objects often provide my initial inspiration. I work in multiples to find variations and combinations I might otherwise miss. My best work often happens when a piece is on the verge of being technically out of control.

My work always explores opposing forces. How can I make an object where the inside and the outside interact? Are there forms that no one has ever seen before, yet which look mysteriously familiar? Such alternating sensory impressions provide a rich visual experience. I want people to crave a second, more careful, look at the objects I create.