Within all the mediums that I work in, it is my hope that at first glance my art will genuinely appear to be loving, gentle, and humorous. At the same time contradictions abound in subtle ways. Underlying traces of fear and
dissatisfaction often plague my subjects, subtly hinted at through layers and time. My recent work involves the idea of the domestic- platonic- yet secretly dysfunctional western family. I question: when does something that
is so pleasant, become disturbing? I make art that is beautiful, happy, and nostalgic, then push it to its possible breaking point, when its pleasantries overtake it, and it reaches a level that is no longer enjoyable, but
somewhat uncomfortable, allowing for the possibility that something grotesque is trying to surface.