I’m an uneasy interloper waist-deep in middle-class America. Compelled to witness and participate in bizarre spectacles which often confuse hi-jacked pageantry with heartfelt ritual, convenience with freedom, and instant-gratification with catharsis; I revel and flail in a culture I barely understand. It’s not mere cynicism that keeps me from being swept along into exuberant festivities or even relaxing into the suggested comfort of a living room. Discomfort arises from learned anticipation of a littered aftermath, a deflation of expectations, a sugar-crash or a regrettable hangover. It’s the looming presence of a patch in the wall or a stain with a secret that keeps me at a distance..

Using discarded objects and familiar textures, I stage absurd configurations that combine nostalgic materials to explore themes of traumatic memory, domestic ritual, and unattainable fantasy. I seek out objects and memorabilia that have complex psycho-social narratives; illuminating class and gender divisions in juxtaposition to their expected functions in polite society. A frosting of saccharine-laced dark humor helps the pill go down.



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