In orbit. The gravitational pull. Relating. Protecting. Dependable. The only possible direction. Perfect. Mundane. Closer, further. This again.

These modern social mandates are taken much too seriously. Part of the energy is the gamble, part of the beauty is when we realize and claim our power to choose, and when we wander through layers of reality and wonder which one is actually ‘truth’. There are so many ways to play—as the game itself, the game piece, the gambler, the dealer, the host, or the one with the only secret there ever was.

Two figures atop a framework of relationship. They face but cannot see eye to eye. Two souls hang within the steel box— they are the fragile children of two single parents attempting to create family. Removed from the sides of the structure are the silhouettes of ancestors — influence carried forth into the present work- hatched with clay rod, transforming the light, ready to reach the stones of presence, place, grounding and the prayer for happiness and love.

“My Love,
We carry the genetic memory of genocide, that ancestral trauma. It affects our every waking moment. There are only a few of us left- a common struggle. There is an ancestral pressure to find healthy love in the small remaining populace. This is an undefinable love, and a wordless hopelessness. The soft heft of what is already lost and what is left, slipping through our fingers.”

In the stable walls of self are patterns of light emanating our abstract truths. Are bones the basis of our foundational structure, or is it something else?

A prayer that we may find the strength and power to unite.

What guides our aesthetic arrangements? How much of it is learned behavior? Can we teach ourselves about our values through the act of social engagement? Or by rearranging ceramic figures on a limited space?

‘Maturing’ may mean learning to stop and listen. Brake rotor foundations and singing wings.

‘Maturing’ may mean learning to stop and listen. Brake rotor foundations and singing wings.

First impressions. Fear. Stereotypes. Expectations. I am not what you might think— in all the ways.

Objectification, sexualization, and gendering stole adoration and affection. I reclaim that space above the bar, over the fireplace, up on high, where body was only a flourish of the privileged. Mmmm. Uh huh.

Objectification, sexualization, and gendering stole adoration and affection. I reclaim that space above the bar, over the fireplace, up on high, where body was only a flourish of the privileged. Mmmm. Uh huh.

Objectification, sexualization, and gendering stole adoration and affection. I reclaim that space above the bar, over the fireplace, up on high, where body was only a flourish of the privileged. Mmmm. Uh huh.

Remember the way the human fits in the pattern of All Things.

Remember the way the human fits in the pattern of All Things.

Remember the way the human fits in the pattern of All Things.