In a world that often feels disposable and overproduced, I’m chasing something slower, something more permanent. My work reflects a life lived at the edges. rural landscapes, musky punk rock shows, endless back roads—and honors the handmade as an act of resilience.

My work in ceramics is rooted in a deep respect for surface and form, informed by a background in printmaking and a life shaped by movement, grit, and subculture. Raised in rural Oklahoma by a single mother, I grew up with limited resources but a sharp eye for the raw and the real. Skateboarding, tattoos, and loud music weren’t just interests—they were survival mechanisms, aesthetic languages, and expressions of identity.

These influences persist in my practice today. I treat clay like a body—something that can be pushed, pulled, scarred, and decorated. I alter wheel-thrown and hand built forms as a way to echo the imperfect, weathered structures of both the natural world and human experience. My surfaces are a playground for mark-making: layered textures, slips, and sgraffito become records of touch and time, drawing from printmaking’s tactile sensibilities while embracing the unpredictability of ceramics.

For most of my adult life, I’ve worked behind the bar—long shifts, loud rooms, fast decisions. That urgency informs my studio practice. I’m interested in the tension between control and chaos, the disciplined body and the havoc it can contain. Ultra-distance cycling is another extension of that. Grinding through miles of pain, clarity, and constant movement in order to achieve a goal. My pots carry that physicality, that endurance. They’re not precious—they’re meant to be handled, used, lived with.

In a world that often feels disposable and overproduced, I’m chasing something slower, something permanent. My work reflects a life lived at the edges—rural landscapes, musky punk rock shows, endless back roads—and honors the handmade as an act of resilience.