I have been making collages since I was six. After my first attempt, I was scolded for cutting up my parents’ magazines and getting glue on the dining room table (otherwise, my artistic paths have always been wholeheartedly encouraged by them.) Undaunted and now in mid-career, it is still my favorite medium and meditation. This meditative mindset flows out across collecting, dissecting, categorizing and filing my source materials, and down into the selection, cutting, and composition of my collages. There's a jar on my work table for all the used X-acto blades. My file cabinets overflow with botanical prints, anatomy charts, vintage beefcake magazines, old letters, and foxed and mildewed papers. I keep small flat-files for separating the pre-cut body parts; arms, legs, hands, each get a tray. I am drawn to the human body as subject matter for so many reasons: we are each, to a greater or lesser degree, familiar with the territory; we come in such a wide array of variations; we are capable of gorgeous contortions; we are image whores, craving to see and be seen; and, in the fading world of analog media, we are as temporal as the paper we are printed on or the life of a battery. For several years I worked strictly with anatomical and medical imagery, focusing on our feeble attempts to communicate with ourselves when our bodies are in distress. My current work pulls me out to the body’s surface and its relationships with the spaces it flows through. 

I prefer working in collage because of its inherent nose-thumbing of context and intention: identity, sexuality, gender, taxonomy, and intention can all be reassigned with the flick of a sharp blade and a smudge of glue stick. I take a perfectly innocent bouquet and taint it with porn and innuendo. I love finding that perfect, fluid, Baroque arabesque between sinew and stem, and my inner Dr. Frankenstein smiles at the newly formed creature on the table before him.