Portfolio of Works

I create figurative sculptures that explore the tension between outward appearance and inner emotional life. These works grow from a long habit of careful observation, watching and listening closely to the subtleties of how people carry themselves and translating those impressions into physical form.

Through shifts in scale, surface, and gesture, the sculptures invite a slower encounter with the psychological presence of the figure and how you as the viewer relate to these shifts, revealing elements of yourself as you process the contradictions that shape human experience, like strength and fragility, confidence and vulnerability, exterior composure and interior uncertainty.

Since I began sculpting in the early 2000s I used fragments to represent the entire body. This began out of financial necessity, but the obstacle proved essential for me in developing my own style of contemporary figurative art. Recently I returned to working with fragments for their poetics to explore how to address the world we're in today.

My sculptural practice centres on people and their histories, using the figure to organize these impressions into forms. In this ongoing series (2013-), I work with collected and discarded body castings from years of experimentation, rearranging fragments from students and friends into relief portraits that feel both familiar and unsettled. These recomposed figures echo traditional portraiture while quietly disrupting it, shifting the focus from likeness to the conditions under which a person is remembered.

Portraiture has long been tied to the desire not only to be remembered, but to shape how one is remembered, to fix a version of the self that can stand in for a life. In this sense, a portrait carries both resemblance and legacy, where legacy becomes a kind of edited narrative prepared for public view. My portraits resist this control. The fragmented and compressed forms suggest that memory is unstable, that what is preserved is partial, and that what is omitted is just as defining.

The works are cast in a single monochrome tone, allowing attention to remain on composition rather than the variety of materials that produce it. This restraint parallels the way memory flattens and filters experience, reinforcing the idea that portraiture is not a faithful record but a selective construction. Across the series, this selectivity is made visible rather than concealed.

While some portraits are playful, others move toward darker or more introspective territory, reflecting the tension between vanity and its limits. The work acknowledges the desire to be seen and remembered but also undercuts it, suggesting that lives are shorter, messier, and less controllable than portraits often imply. In doing so, I treat portraiture not as a stable likeness, but as an imperfect and sometimes uneasy negotiation between presence, absence, and time.

This series of drawings portrays the 45^th President of the United States engaged in real events documented in the news—moments I wanted to fix in my memory. It emerged from the relentless flood of headlines during his first year in office, an experience that was both exhausting and often infuriating, as his actions repeatedly defied expectations of the role. I recognized that fixing these down onto paper meant that their memories would not disappear into tomorrow as another event overshadowed everything before it.

Drawing became a way to process this—to slow it down, to look more closely, and to search for some trace of humanity within the spectacle. In these works, I remove his clothing. His wardrobe functioned as a kind of armor, signaling power and insulation; without it, class distinctions fall away, and he becomes subject to the same moral scrutiny as anyone else.

Landscape is used to construct a psychological state. These environments hold only him, collapsing the world inward so that what we see is less a setting than a projection of his inner life. In this way, the drawings move beyond documenting events and move toward examining how a person is constructed, remembered, and they establish a field in which his actions and character can be examined without the protections he typically relies on.

Upon completing my first series of bronze sculptures in 2007, I found myself mentally and physically exhausted by the weight of the material and the subject. I needed a different way to continue, though I did not yet know what that would look like. Over the following two years, I began working in printmaking, developing a practice in intaglio drypoint and allowing the process to lead. This body of work continued my exploration of masculinity, while offering a lighter compliment to the sculptures. Rather than replacing one approach with another, it opened a space for something less fixed, more responsive to change and chance. The nature of drypoint supported this way of working. The burrs raised on the copper plate capture ink for the printed image. These will wear down as they pass through the press, giving each mark a limited lifespan. There is a necessary commitment in every line, but also an acceptance that the image will shift over time. I embraced the eccentric, unstable quality of these marks, and the way small accidents could redirect the image in ways I could not have planned. Working on the plate often felt closer to performance than to control. Each decision happened in the moment, shaped by attention, memory, and instinct. For me, these governing forces move faster than language, so I had to be ready, listening and looking. When something goes wrong, it opens another possibility. These moments require watching closely, weighing options, and trusting that the work can be steered somewhere unexpected. The resulting images carry a comic melancholy and a raw vulnerability that emerges through this process, and through their modest scale.

Returning to drawing through printmaking renewed my energy and my attachment to the act of looking. Drawing as an art form allows for a different kind of seeing. It is not bound by gravity or by the limits of vision. A figure can be opened, reversed or rearranged if the composition calls for it. It can show what is behind, inside, or imagined. In this way, the series extends beyond representation and moves towards a more flexible understanding of the body and its inner life, in a way that only drawing can express. 

Studios I've created in through the years.