Conceived during Snowpocalypse 2012, when I was snowed into my downtown Seattle apartment for the better part of a week and my muse had just walked out on me in a fury, the simulacra started as impassioned letters to him. Dictated out loud and written in my natural illegible handwriting. Within a few days, the memory of the words starts to fade, the phrases, too, until eventually all that is left is the skeletal remains of a conversation.
The emotional structure of language.

It is in this series that my formal education (in professional and technical writing) merges with my artwork.
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What Once Was Here
A grief portal. A public memorial to time lost. 
"What Once Was Here" is a collection of pandemic stories. The simulacra holds dozens of stories of loss, life, nightmares and miracles from the last year and a half. Stories with tears of grief and joy, poetic words, heroic acts, emotional chasms, and so.much.clarity. Standing inside was Dark. Light. Life. Death. Nature. Void. The day after our opening, Nature decided to contribute her own artistic poetry by pretty much destroying two of the panels with abnormally high winds that ripped out grommets and unwove and strew our words and stories onto the surrounding hillside. About to head out of town and somewhat impressed by beauty of it (re-integration with nature, indeed), I sheared the panels in half and removed what was left of the woven maple. The panels hang now as only void against the backdrop of trees and sky.
Our stories and lives were such short moments in the larger cycle.
I am happy with this. It feels more ancient that way.

What Once Was Here. 2021. salvaged fir, canvas, maple. 10' x 6' x 6'

At the opening of Over/Growth at Vashon Center for the Arts
At the opening of Over/Growth at Vashon Center for the Arts
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Occuities​​​​​​​
The last six months of an affair. Every big, important thing we said is there, spliced into the canvas portraits of us. In process, the portraits were separate and moved around my apartment in effigy of each week and how we were relating. A week before his birthday I got drunk on jaeger (woah, last time) and punched in his face when he double booked a movie birthday party over the sci-fi film festival we'd been planning to go to for months. On his birthday, I sewed it back together with silk. Thankfully the relationship did actually end. 

Occuities. 2013. acrylic on canvas, maple, ink, steel. silk. 50" x 42"

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Foxes and Piece​​​​​​​
I wish I had better pictures. Foxes and Piece is a psychological whirlpool, a pursuit of peace. The edges are leading thoughts, the little threads that pull you into the dark center. Each written in my natural gibberish while I dictated the condition, the thoughts, out loud. The center mat is woven of pieces of the same, each containing sentences and phrases that were then inked over and are long forgotten. Woven over the course of a month. 

Foxes and Piece. 2013. maple, ink, gold. 60" x 60"
Private Collection

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The First Set​​​​​​​
The ones that started everything. 

Obfuscation. 2012. maple, ink. 58" x 47"

Sorted Details. 2012. maple, ink. 112" x 28"
Sorted Details. 2012. maple, ink. 112" x 28"
Threads. 2012. maple, ink. 36" x 29"
Threads. 2012. maple, ink. 36" x 29"
Restated/Revised. 2012. maple, ink. 60" x 70"
Restated/Revised. 2012. maple, ink. 60" x 70"
The Second Conversation. 2012. maple, ink. 58" x 47"
The Second Conversation. 2012. maple, ink. 58" x 47"
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