My practice is rooted in a desire to hold onto fleeting moments before they dissolve into the ether.

I work across ceramics, oil painting, encaustic and mixed media, shifting between realism and abstraction to tell stories that words cannot contain. On one hand, I sculpt ceramic vessels and forms that feel like reliquaries—objects meant to carry memory and mark the passing of time or unique states of mind in a moment. On the other, I paint with oils to render a face, a landscape or an everyday object with careful realism, anchoring the narrative into the tangible world.

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Encaustic has become the bridge between these approaches. I spend time building translucent wax layers to conceal and reveal history with embed photographs, fragments of text and small mementos in beeswax, fusing each layer with heat and scraping back to let previous layers whisper through. The process mirrors the way memories surface and fade—sometimes sharp and clear, sometimes blurred by time. I’m drawn to the medium’s physicality; the scent of warm wax, the iridescence of pigment suspended within it, and the unpredictable alchemy that occurs when heat moves pigment like water or wind, finding it’s home in it’s own time.

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My paintings oscillate between representation and abstraction. When I paint realistically, it’s to honor my own experiences with people, experiences and objects within this tangible world. When I move toward abstraction, it is to evoke emotions or sensations that are harder to pin down—grief, joy, longing. Often the works begin with a quiet, personal narrative but I leave space for viewers to project their own stories. In this way, my art becomes both a personal archive and a communal invitation.

Ultimately, I make art to remember: to capture the weight of a hand on my shoulder, the play of light on a familiar face, the scent of clay and wax on a summer day. Each layer of paint, each fired form is a way of saying: this mattered; please remember with me.