Time has power. Like Sisyphus, the Earth is bound to cycles. The landscape speaks softly. Time is an arrow. Once it is loosed from the bow it will not stop until it hits the ground. Our human mortality acts in the same way.


The landscape speaks honestly.


Death is real. We, in varying degrees, have to wade through the mucky banks of mortality. All things need time to grow and become what they are. My work grows and changes through the restriction of control within the seasons. The weather calibrates the work that I make.


This work is based in observation. It is often a quiet and personal action. Through walks I find connections to landscape and meditation in the stillness. The repetition and changing nature of seasonal weather guides the choices and materials that I use. Like a prayer, I repeat patterns, forms, and actions.