I’ve been exploring the stories held by hands. Hands are living landscapes of the lives we lead— muscled, wrinkled and shaped by the way we use them. They are also symbles of power by  which we can quite literally move mountains. By tracing and molding their forms, I’m working through the quiet strength and layered narratives our bodies carry through our hands.

A modern day tortoise and hare race is ongoing, even at night around a darkened urban landscape. The race track is neverending and enclosed by cliffs guarded by thick vines and cemetery of wayfinding signs at the bottom of the cliff. In this rat race, it's not quite clear who is ahead and who is behind as we loop de loop around and around. 

This piece approximates the shape of a female body, battered by planes and boxed in by the grim headlines from a single day's news. On 12/29/25, the front page of the NYT overflowed with negative news from around the world; here, those words are etched into clay, stacked along the curves of her form. Yet within, warm, carved spaces offer a sanctuary against the outside. In the soft, bright interior of the womb, there is protection from  the dark outside.