There exists a language of form and balance in nature. I try to understand it, and instead of waxing poetic or scientific, I make work that emulates it. Possessing only a superficial degree in Environmental Science I have almost no formal art training. I actively try to educate myself, but at times it seems to be a never ending and futile task. Simple curiosity and intuition are my best tools, but the aesthetics of nature are far too complex to grasp in one lifetime. Mistakes are often my greatest instructor. They force change and adaptation. My process feeds on this adaptation and change. Each finished piece represents an unlimited number of equally qualified outcomes. I take notes, as I catch on to the infinite possibilities.

While living in a tent my last semester of university, the simple and unnoticed bite of a tick catalyzed what ended up being the most influential and creatively edifying period of my life. The bite was followed by a couple months of brain cooking fevers, violent vomiting, and blinding migraines. This was accompanied by inconclusive tests and confused doctors with no answer. Finally an answer came, and after a month more only the migraines remained. The long term effects the fevers had on my brain can be considered and argued, but considering other possibilities, I got off easy. Introspection during that period altered my perception and intensified my desire to explore, learn and live. Without it I probably would have become a park ranger or followed some other socially acceptable life path.

Instead, I spent most of my twenties wandering around the world. Living out of tents, hammocks, my truck, and the occasional home of a friend. I often isolated myself from people for weeks at a time - sometimes longer - seeking natural areas - areas with silence, solitude and occasionally, the accompanyment of friends. Unfortunately the world has been blanketed with a thin crust of concrete and steel. Finding silence and isolation is ephemeral. Giving thanks for these fleeting moments, these periods of thought and observation, I learned something about the form and the balance of nature. I still try to understand it fully, but with each new understanding more questions arise. There is much to learn and I was then, and will continue to be, an easily distracted student.

I seek to echo reoccurring patterns and to find common threads within all things. What at times feels like a strict set of rules that I follow are nothing more than intuition and perception. The rules of nature are beyond my scope. Before I sculpted, I felt that it was something I would do when I was older, settled, and possessed a greater understanding of "things". I'm still not settled, and I still haven't developed a deeper understanding of things. All I do know is that I exist in a moment where I am biologically significant, but geologically insignificant. All traces of our existence will be erased with time. What will be biologically significant in the future can only be determined by the future, and it has yet to be determined if the human race will play a part. Our place is not guaranteed. It seems that we are doing nothing en masse to ensure our survival. The world is cyclicle. Death, destruction, erosion, and decay give birth to the new, and we witness only an instant of it. In this way my sculptures are also cyclicle. They're not static - they're stills taken from chaos and made palatable to the limitations of our understanding.