I’ve lived most of my life in rural areas, always staying close to the ground--gardening, hiking, observing, photographing, collecting and recording my experiences. For more than thirty years I've been rooted in a quiet corner of New England, where after half a lifetime, I feel like an integral part of the ecosystem. The creative work I make here, by extention, is inextricably tangled in the web of this specific environment. My daily life in this beautiful place instills me with a deep curiosity, caring, respect and concern for the myriad lifeforms inhabiting the forests, fields and wetlands. I’m constantly amazed by the rich diversity of species I encounter, teeming and resilient, yet also clearly struggling under the weight of human domination, pollution and the multi-tiered stresses of climate change. As I watch the seasons cycle, never quite repeating, I'm reminded to pay close attention, to take nothing for granted and to fully appreciate the magic as it arises and unravels each day.

Everything I make begins with a visual experience. I go for daily walks, look closely, take photographs, make notes then try to translate what I observe into art. I return to the same spots throughout the seasons, year after year, noticing all the tiny landmarks I know and love—vernal pools, tree roots, mossy rocks, puddles, hummocks, shadows, reflections, nests, beaver constructions. I experience their growth, aging, decay and disappearance over time. I'm forever trying to press something of this transient essence onto paper.

I think of my work as a lifetime of small offerings—a humble gathering of the wonder, gratitude, grief and love I feel for life's fleeting beauty—echoed back to the world.