My paintings begin in a place I imagine exists between dimensions, and what emerges are its inhabitants. I’ve always been drawn to world-building, and over time this imagined world has become a way of moving through the subconscious.
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The figures live according to their own logic. They have wheels and love lives, bouquets and swords, ceremonies whose meanings I’m still learning. Hearts, stars, umbrellas, playing cards, bugs, flowers, and mechanical fragments move through their world the way ordinary objects move through ours. Their daily life would seem absurd or obsolete to us, just as ours would to them. We have no real way to understand each other. Love might be the only thing that crosses. In the universe of Interdimensional Nonsense, love behaves like physics, holding everything together.


The figures themselves are hybrids, assembled from elements that should not belong together: botanical forms, bodily fragments, architectural structures, machinery, ornament. Halos and heels, leaves and wheels, wires and petals. I’m interested in the moment these incompatible parts begin to cohere, even uneasily, into beings that feel simultaneously devotional, comic, fragile, and mechanical. Even planets sometimes appear within the figures; an earth held in the chest, a moon where a head should be. They carry whole dimensions inside of them; alternate realities woven into the logic of their strange being.
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I’m drawn to a set of tensions: between elegance and crudeness, innocence and unsettlement, the mathematical and the emotional, the mechanical and the organic, the lonely and the playful. The longer I work with them, the more they reveal their own internal systems. Certain motifs repeat obsessively, returning in altered forms and new scales, as if governed by rules I can sense but never completely decode. The figures seem magnetized toward one another even when they cannot fully connect.
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I work across paper, wood panel, and canvas, primarily oil paint and charcoal, allowing forms to surface slowly through accumulation, erasure, and repetition. My role, as I work, feels less like invention than observation. I’m trying to hold the figures still long enough to understand what they want from one another.

My work exists within a Surrealist lineage shaped by artists such as as Leonora Carrington, Dorothea Tanning, Yves Tanguy, Remedios Varo, and Roberto Matta. I am less interested in dream imagery and fantasy than in the moment hidden psychic systems become visible as bodies, objects and worlds.