I'm friends with the stars.

I'm friends with the stars. 

Maybe it's because I made one too many wishes,

Stayed up one too many nights, 

or had fallen quickly enough for them to think I'm one of them. 

They welcome me now from my bedroom window. They welcome just me. 

Me without a facade. 

Safety Blanket, 2024 (ongoing)

3 layered copper etching using aquatint, spit bite, and soft ground on canton paper, thread, approx. 30" X 30"

When I entered my home, I was greeted with the warm glow of slippery tiles. I'd look around to see bible verses hung on walls and reminders to leave my shoes at the door.

The rigidity of routine seemed to encapsulate these tiles. 

Yet they glowed to me. They spoke softness into my home, a beckoning to dare to cross their threshold. I caught glimpses of them supporting me when I was rushed inside to clean my wounds, when I wanted to slam the door after arguments, after I quietly tiptoed across them to see who was outside. I remember watching my own blood fall onto them. 

Then they were taken from me. I tried to piece them together with one artifact and many memories. I'll keep them safe now, even if I couldn't back then.

Maybe they will keep me safe too?

Grounded, 2023 (ongoing)

spiraling. who knows what is real anymore?

 stop-motion short film using original prints, an overhead projector, and original sound

why did they leave you? 2023 (ongoing)

8ft 5" X 5ft 9"

found wooden bed frame relief carving

"You didn't keep me safe anymore. The outside invaded veins."

"I'll try to replicate you. It will never be enough."