I was born young, bald and without a major. One thing was evident from the start, I loved to make (censored) with my hands. A box of crayons, a piece of cardboard and some string would consume me for hours. The world was my art project.
In grade school, the teacher's bulletin boards were my specialty. I've cut out more construction paper leaves and George Washington silhouettes than any child in recorded history.
When I left for art school, Mom got excited because she thought I would finally paint a nice landscape to go over her couch. Her standard for a real artist. Instead, I became a big-city-dress-all-in-black-award-winning-graphic designer. It was an art/career/money decision. Using a computer instead of my hands. Creativity = billable hours.
Decades later, I find myself older, hopefully wiser and in desperate need of a haircut. Having now designed more corporate annual reports than construction paper leaves, I've started to really miss the simple high of making cool (censored) with my hands, just for the sheer joy (and pain) of making it. Design is still a part of my life, but I've found my way back to the good stuff. My hands and my heart are now much, much happier. The world is again my art project.
Unfortunately, my Mom is still waiting for something to put over her couch.
My current work is about texture, emotion and word play. Always experimenting, my work combines raw silk fibers, hand felted wool, crocheted copper wire and dyed paper all held together with a flurry of machine stitching, a generous dose of beadwork, and at least a few healthy belly laughs.