I want you to stop. Take a closer look. Are those... forks? How did a drawerful of bent cutlery catch you off guard like that? That compulsory double-take is where my work begins. I make metal sculpture from the materials others have cast away: silverware, vintage oil cans, farm detritus. I shape and weld them into figures that feel arrested mid-motion. The materials carry their own history. The form radiates mine.

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My practice is shaped by the physics of connected bodies in motion: the counterbalance and stretch of a couple mid-swingout, the emotional peak of a dancer committed to the shapes they create, how impulse alters velocity. The tensions and releases live in my hands and body long before they manifest in steel.

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The series began with Love, Connection, and Movement, a two-figure work created during a residency in rural New York. Its skeleton scaled from wire maquettes to rebar, its surfaces wrapped in strips of century-old oil cans, its hearts forged from a red tractor hood. It now lives permanently in a private garden.

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The work moves across a wide emotional register because connection does the same. Love is not a single feeling. It exists between people and within them, in heartbreak as surely as in embrace. Whatever the feeling, the material follows.

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My intention, always, is for the encounter to outlast the viewing. I want someone to walk away reaching for another person. Make a call they've been putting off. Find a dance floor. Whatever form it takes.