I grew up on a damp island in the Puget Sound where mysterious things would often wash up on the beach. There were strange sea animals and oddly shaped shells to examine, but some of the things that washed up were objects from the human world: shoes, tires, engine parts, bottles. I remember being amazed at their condition. Although familiar, the sea had changed them. Barnacles and sea plants would attach to the objects, transforming them into a hybrid.
This summer I drove to the farm where I spent my early childhood and found that the neighbor’s house was completely overtaken by vegetation. The roof, and walls were torn away in places. Blackberry vines curled through the house. Dried leaves filled the kitchen sink and mildew altered the pattern of the faded wallpaper. I remember being in this house as a child. It is somewhat comforting that a human structure can be absorbed back into nature so quickly, just as a beaver dam or a sparrow's nest can be, but there is also a feeling of melancholy about the erasing of it.
I have discovered that the only constant in life is change. The rapid decay of my neighbor's house and the altered remnants that wash up along the Puget Sound shore are visual evidence of this reality. A reality that is often avoided. In my work, I attempt to embrace this natural process of change, bringing forward the positive aspects of metamorphosis while recognizing the loss and disconcerting aspect of it. My current work involves dismantling and transformation. I often take things apart, alter and recombine them into a new form. In my sculptures and installations I transform everyday objects and materials with the intention of investigating the dual nature of transformation.
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