A few notes about the making of these works...
I'm inspired by the exquisite craftmanship of artists and artisans from the past, and I often adopt motifs that are centuries old, but my pieces are not copies or reproductions; they are original artworks. In the many hours I spend combing museums, cathedrals, and shrines, I try to decode the "language" used by artists over the centuries who were creating jewel-like works of devotional art - what techniques and tricks did they use to create the sense of an encounter with the sacred? Mastering the skills needed to create this feeling is a nearly daily practice for me.
Although I have access to tools that were unavailable for most of history (most notably 3-D computer modeling software and electric lighting), all my artworks are ultimately handcrafted in my studio. I'm particularly focused on the manipulation of light and color to enhance the experience and mood conveyed by the work.
In most cases, the hardwoods that I use for my pieces come from my family farmland in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, near the Shenandoah Valley. The rough-sawn boards were air-dried for forty years in the hay loft of an 18th-century barn before I moved them to the west coast.
I've collected many of the specimens I use for ornamentation during my explorations outdoors. I find others in antique shops, flea markets, and yard sales - with the goal of recapturing their value. In some cases materials have been pieced from recycled vintage jewelry. Less frequently, I purchase specimens from environmentally responsible vendors of naturalia.
I try to carefully avoid using any natural organisms that are considered a threatened or endangered species. In fact, many of the items I include in my work are really quite common (so far) - in part, my attempt to help viewers see the familiar in a new way. That I have to take such care to avoid the use of at-risk species in my work is itself certainly a commentary on the state of the natural world. If I can urge people to stop and admire the wonder of a natural specimen and help them think about the protection of the larger ecosystem it once thrived in, it hopefully becomes more than a trinket.
I regularly consult with art historians, museum curators, and scholars to learn more about the artworks, shrines, and cabinets that inspire what I make next. I'm grateful for the help from these experts.
I'm inspired by the exquisite craftmanship of artists and artisans from the past, and I often adopt motifs that are centuries old, but my pieces are not copies or reproductions; they are original artworks. In the many hours I spend combing museums, cathedrals, and shrines, I try to decode the "language" used by artists over the centuries who were creating jewel-like works of devotional art - what techniques and tricks did they use to create the sense of an encounter with the sacred? Mastering the skills needed to create this feeling is a nearly daily practice for me.
Although I have access to tools that were unavailable for most of history (most notably 3-D computer modeling software and electric lighting), all my artworks are ultimately handcrafted in my studio. I'm particularly focused on the manipulation of light and color to enhance the experience and mood conveyed by the work.
In most cases, the hardwoods that I use for my pieces come from my family farmland in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, near the Shenandoah Valley. The rough-sawn boards were air-dried for forty years in the hay loft of an 18th-century barn before I moved them to the west coast.
I've collected many of the specimens I use for ornamentation during my explorations outdoors. I find others in antique shops, flea markets, and yard sales - with the goal of recapturing their value. In some cases materials have been pieced from recycled vintage jewelry. Less frequently, I purchase specimens from environmentally responsible vendors of naturalia.
I try to carefully avoid using any natural organisms that are considered a threatened or endangered species. In fact, many of the items I include in my work are really quite common (so far) - in part, my attempt to help viewers see the familiar in a new way. That I have to take such care to avoid the use of at-risk species in my work is itself certainly a commentary on the state of the natural world. If I can urge people to stop and admire the wonder of a natural specimen and help them think about the protection of the larger ecosystem it once thrived in, it hopefully becomes more than a trinket.
I regularly consult with art historians, museum curators, and scholars to learn more about the artworks, shrines, and cabinets that inspire what I make next. I'm grateful for the help from these experts.
Visual geometry of forced perspective.