By staging uncanny encounters that dredge up old associations, thoughts, memories, and stories either accepted as ‘just so,’ or abandoned as illogical and unimportant, I work at the edge of my ability to control outcomes. My materials seem to have their own metabolisms. I make animals that might be dead, or that might have only been animate in the imagination. I want my sculptures to ruminate, bleed, wrinkle, and exhale. A four-legged muslin sack is a carcass on the shoulder of the highway, a Biblical lamb, and an abandoned plaything all at once. I look at the moment when teeth erupt through a child’s gums as a paradox of vulnerability and burgeoning power. Each piece can remain in flux. Just as gravity or airflow can animate an object, so can a story or relationship. Muslin, paper, concrete, leather, felt and viscous paint each propose their own relationships; I maintain my state of uncertainty.