Growing up as a queer individual in a hostile environment, I sought solace in the forest—not a pristine, idealized, or groomed forest. Instead, a site of debris, a site of collision between mechanized industry and wilderness, of collaborative place-making and destruction. Memories are often imprinted into materials but are frequently illegible. What narratives are printed on my body shaped through my experiences that others could not read?
I unveil nostalgic connections between place, body, and material. To give voice to these memories, I create assemblages, performances, and installations that bare a past that we can no longer fully grasp. The materials I collect bear these narratives and echo the elsewheres and elsewhens buried in time. Dirt sourced from home; wax that emanates the smell of a place not here; cast iron, an element of our blood poured, solidified, and oxidized; pine needles from the shed roof; burlap drenched and dripped with indigo; a discarded deer jaw. These materials cradle narratives that drift like ghosts—uncanny empathies surface.
In the process of re-collecting, I recast overlooked materials as objects worthy of care. I honor time past and those materials so they will be seen, so they can hold space, so they will not be forgotten.