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I’m interested in the ways we come to know and express our bodies from within: the voices we give our ecstasies, pains and in-betweens.

As a painter, I explore visceral sensation, hoping to locate and translate the invisible—my invisible.

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I paint a sunflower stem found dry in mamma’s garden. As I handle its stiff body and knobby head, my stem becomes a stick, magician’s staff, human heart, and bone: my bone. 

Experience and memory dictate what the body sees. My body sees a bone. 
Bone is stem is mine. 

Two surgeries saw my femur cleaved: cut, twisted, reunited and grown whole again—a stem regrown.

I’m interested in the space surrounding translation—where language and meaning are lost and found and my stem- stick- staff- heart- bone are one and the same.

Languages of the body and spirit burrow deep: sometimes inarticulate, simply felt and known.

Language haunts my body haunts language.

My word-bank comes up short as I move between the flat smiles and frowns found on doctors’ charts and the deeper shades of ecstasy and agony faced by saints and icons. 

Sometimes, language does not work. 

Confused, I leave my body and return through painting. Here, pain becomes a knot tied tight; muscles become tangled silk; flesh is pink, yellow, blue, brown. Breath and the subtle body find themselves embodied in the folds of a nappa cabbage—ruffled as the Virgin’s robe. 

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