A Life in Making

The material comes first.

A plywood sheet already cut, discarded at a construction site. Cotton scraps pressed into paper by hand. A single Douglas fir 2×4 bought by the board foot. The work begins with what is available — not what is precious — and listens for what the material already wants to become.

An architect’s eye, turned feral.

Chicago training taught proportion before expression, tolerance before gesture. Traditional joinery — dovetail, dado, mortise and tenon — becomes both structure and sculpture. Precision is not the opposite of freedom; it is the condition that makes freedom legible.

The subjects are always partly about the gap between seeing and knowing.

Surveillance multiplied into candy-coloured vertigo. Celebrity reduced to halftone dots and a hand that shields. American mythology stranded on Martian dust. Every piece asks what we lose in the act of looking — and what reproduction does to a face, a planet, an icon.

No calendar. No gallery roster. Just the next piece.

Decades of continuing. Work that makes itself on its own schedule and finds its audience through correspondence, word of mouth, the studio door. Feral art is not a manifesto. It is the habit of a lifetime refusing, patiently, to become decorative.