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I was raised in Oklahoma.

An Oklahoma of occasional, irregular hills, invasive cedars, and deep, broad, often dry waterways.

An Oklahoma of sparse suburbanism on a street named for a plantation.

I attended a farm school where sports was king.

This was home.

I was most happy in the summers, when I could dream of all the far away places in the books I read; places that felt more like home.

I met a woman in Birmingham, Alabama with glasses that I loved. She was an architect.

Betsy, my university chemistry research advisor, had always dreamed of becoming an architect.

I graduated from architecture school in Oklahoma and moved, by way of San Francisco, to New York City, a place with buildings.

I worked in architecture.

I fell in love with the Art Students League; the real melting pot of New York City.

An MFA.

I worked in architecture, and made paintings and prints and sculptures and little drawings, to see better, in all the moments between.

I thought about people.

I wondered about façade.

The façade that keeps you at arm length, desiring an embrace;
The façade that boisterously welcomes you in, wanting only solitude;
The façade that merely hints, at what may be, a way inside.

I made paintings about this.

I thought about home.

Homes generate identity / continuity / stability.

Homes, in appearance and location, explain our position in society.

The success of a single family ranch house.

A driveway, a lawn, and a mailbox, an automatic garage door, and privacy fence.

The success of a second ‘home’.

The stigma of ‘housing’.

Connecting art and architecture, my work explores cultural conceptions of home and belonging. My paintings and monotypes investigate façade, control, inclusion and exclusion; they are portraits of home.

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