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.
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.