You enter a house through the front door and exit out the back, but what did you do inside? Most people just observe the valves opening and closing, but there are all these structures that make that happen, rotating all around, and never with the exact same motion. “Oh that’s too chaotic, too random,” some say. But if you walk down the street on a predetermined path, you’re in trouble. “It’s too chaotic the way you’re walking, man.” Sure it is, because I’m avoiding vehicles and people I may not want to run into! Your organs understand this variability and shift to, say, deliver more oxygen here or there. That’s feedback. The circulatory system is bouncing, man.

"The space of the studio is the space of the house. The boundary between art and life is not so much dissolved, as overlaid. The time of studio is pieced together, in and around teaching, gardening, cooking, reading, writing, spending time with my partner, Fox. We make work and hang it on the walls of this house, as we slowly remodel the space itself. All is in flux, in fragmentation. I look to the compost pile, the weed pulling, the newly discovered Dogwood tree for inspiration and form, and an acceptance of slow process."