I build and dissolve universes with paint and pencil marks, lines, and color. They are my language. Old etchings have the familiarity of beloved characters.

I adore placing them in new situations and watching as they interact with color, space, shape, and form.

My pencil records my movement. It traces my existence and expresses what I struggle to say. The layers of paper, marks, paint, dust, and glitter are the scars left behind as I battle to express what language denied me. My work is a pause in the war, a broken-hearted moment of peace and beauty amid the never-ending battle between my dreams, my desire, and my regrets and pain.

My formal education deepened my connection with drawing. At Tufts I studied the way weather and time leave marks on our world. Marks that we desperately study, a lost language that is ever evolving. Meanwhile I floated through Boston’s museums. My time at the Museum School was immersive and exposed me to more mediums than my spongy mind could hold.

After Boston, I needed order, refinement. And I found it in Atlanta. In SCAD’s printmaking department I delved into high technique, throwing myself into the exactness of copperplate etching, four color photogravure and master printing.

Everything I learned - egg tempera, adobe’s endless suite, photogravure, web design, photography, silverpoint - each medium furthered my relationship with drawing.

Drawing is my native language. It is my beloved niche, my heart and identity.