You can usually find me in Seattle, where I’ve spent most of my adult life. Our house is a brick Tudor with arched doorways, and a roof made of wooden shakes. Nearby there’s a greenbelt park with rambling trails that lead to a beach and beautiful views of the Puget Sound.
I grew up in a suburb north of Seattle, and my childhood was relatively calm. My father had a furniture upholstery business. My mother helped with the business and was curious, energetic, and always striving for perfection. Both my parents were very hardworking, and they raised us to be self-reliant: for example, they wanted us to learn how to make things with our own two hands. As a result, each of us has pursued a career where we use our hands. My older brother is a fine wood worker, my younger brother continued in my father’s business as an upholsterer, and my other brother builds airplanes.
Since early childhood, I’ve always felt a need to create. My mother saved many of my very early drawings. Looking at them again as an adult, they revealed to me that even from an early age I was attracted to faraway places, exotic costumes, and embellished dresses. One of my closest childhood friends was also artistically driven. We spent a lot of time together, drawing, making paper dolls, and crudely sewing clothes for our dolls. And we were sometimes very competitive with each other, in a way that was exciting and nourished our creativity. Even as a child, I thought I’d like to have a career in art, but was never sure what form it would take.
My favorite item in my studio is a very, VERY edited old book. The title is, “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story”. I bought it at a garage sale several years ago. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read the book. I also edit my work often, so in a way I can relate, but I have never had this kind of intensity, fortunately.
One of my most formative experiences was going to Japan after I graduated from high school. I traveled there on a cultural exchange program with a group of students. These six weeks on a remote island in the inland sea was a life-changing experience for me. My Japanese host family owned a Western-style tailoring shop, which was filled with hundreds of bolts of beautiful fabrics. They were kind and patient and excited to share their unique culture with me. My host father taught me about Japanese history, art, antiques, and calligraphy.
After I returned from Japan, I attended a local college to study art and continued thinking about how I could earn a living in a creative field. But I also kept daydreaming about Japan, and wanting to keep learning about Japanese culture firsthand. Eventually, I enrolled in an intensive Japanese language course at the University of Washington and returned to Japan for six months.
I have never had this kind of intensity in my work but I can relate because I do edit often, which is why this VERY edited old book, entitled “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story” is my favorite. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read. Fortunately for me, my work is created and recreated only by me.
When I came back to Seattle, I worked as an instructional assistant at an alternative high school, teaching art for five years. Teaching was both fulfilling and challenging—it gave me a chance to think about art from the perspective of the viewer, instead of the artist.
While I was teaching art at the high school, I continued to make things. Making wearable art became my main pursuit and I participated in several fashion shows and exhibitions, primarily in the Seattle area. I incorporated Japanese fabrics and based some of my designs off what I’d seen in Japan. Eventually, I moved away from wearable art, and decided to create clothing on a much smaller scale. I made hundreds of small ten-inch figures with animal heads and elaborate costumes and sold them throughout the country.
I have been working in paper for the last fifteen years. It was a natural evolution for me. Many of the aspects of working with paper weren’t too different from sewing and constructing pieces from fabric. But because paper is much more fragile, I had to teach myself new ways of making things that wouldn’t tear the paper. My work has become more detailed over the years. I spend a lot of time thinking about different methods: like making different types of folds, embossments, and new ways of assembling the artworks. The differences are subtle, but to me, keeping the work fresh and interesting involves making these small adjustments, and always pushing myself to try new things and improve my methods. I like collecting and working with antique papers that have a history of their own. Paper, in general, is something disposable to most people.
I like thinking about how to reuse paper in completely different contexts, using each different paper as a reference point back to the artwork. My most recent series using old uncirculated money was especially fun to use in this way.
In many ways, I’d like for my work to speak for itself. Ideally, a visitor would be able to look at the artwork and be transported to another time and place. When I’m making my art, I spend a lot of time imagining and creating backstories about each piece. For certain series, I do a lot of researching about the different time period that I’m trying to evoke in the artwork. Not all of this will be apparent to the visitor, but I’d like for them to be able to see beyond the details in each piece and have a deeper experience with the artwork.
Since much of my work is based in history, traveling is the vehicle that brings me closest to my subject. Seattle is beautiful, but it’s a relatively new city. It’s not easy for me to have a sense of the past near my hometown. Italy has been my muse more recently. My Italian heritage wasn’t a strong part of my upbringing. However, the first time I went to Italy, I felt a strong and immediate bond, which I think comes out subtly in my work. It’s a place where I feel I can almost time travel. My husband and son also share this passion, which has prompted us to buy a small, historic apartment in the ancient town of Bergamo, in Northern Italy. With inspiration just outside our door, I am planning to work occasionally from this beautiful town.
When I am at home in Seattle, and trying to put myself into the mindset of another era, I enjoy watching movies set in a historic time, and reading the New York Times archive from a hundred years ago. I’ve based two groups of figures on articles that I have researched about real people in the New York Times. Even though I need to imagine what their lives would have been like, their challenges and triumphs are very moving to me.
I am fortunate to have a husband who supports and appreciates what I do. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves, which doesn’t necessarily bring high profit. Although I like to think of myself as an artist, I know my work falls somewhere between craft and art, and it’s difficult to find a venue for people in my arena. I have exhibited my work with Curtis Steiner in Seattle for 14 years and am also grateful for this relationship.
The role an artist has is usually very personal, but generally art is an attempt to stimulate the audience to thinking or looking at something in a different way.
Before I begin a new piece, I think about what I want to express in my work. If there is research involved, I do that first until I feel comfortable to start. My process is basically trial and error. First I select a color palette that evokes the mood I want, and then I lay out several sheets of paper and ephemera to choose from. I have a general idea of what it should look like, but as I work, ideas come to me so often the finished piece is quite different than my original idea. Working without a definite plan works well for me. I work better without structure, and open options. The result seems more natural to me as well.
I often carry my work with me when I travel. Long car drives afford me hours of work with good lighting.
2014 Eccentric Misfits and Uncommon Characters. I made this paper June bride a few years years back. I searched the 1875-1910 New York Times for articles about people who had acted out in peculiar ways. I gave them animal heads. This runaway bride disappeared on a train the day of the wedding. She’s all paper (head too) standing about twelve inches… tiny flowers.
I have a show each year with a different theme, so the message behind my work does vary, however everything I do gestures toward remembrance. I want to give a voice to people, especially women, who have been forgotten. I did the most research for a series based on criminals and misfits. I researched the New York Times online archives, concentrating on the period between 1875 and 1915. I found many more people that I wanted to profile, but tried to select a range of crimes, always leaning toward the portrayal of the more unusual person or crime. Whenever my work focuses on a particular time and place, I try to learn as much a possible. I listen to podcasts, watch videos and read a lot, basically anything that will put me in the mood of a particular time period. The more I research, the better I’m able to evoke the mood of that time and place. For every hundred things I learn about each subject, maybe one single detail makes it into the artwork itself—but that’s part of the fun of it for me.
From 2012… part of a series I did after researching criminals in the New York Times. Shoplifter reported in the late 1880’s.
I like going to museums of all types— I especially love viewing museums within historic homes, where the artworks are displayed among other objects and relics from the time period. These places that combine history and biography are really inspiring to me. It had always been my dream to exhibit my work in a museum. Spring 2019 I had a one woman show at The Bainbridge Island Art museum with over 30 pieces of my work. I would love to show my work again in a similar setting to share my work with a broader audience.
The biggest challenge in both scale and technique was creating a 72 Russian giantess. Elizabeth Lyska lived in the late 1890’s. She traveled the world as a sideshow act and was beloved everywhere she went. I wanted to replicate her exactly, at her actual height. It was a huge challenge to work with this scale: I spent a lot of time standing on a table, and it was very difficult finding paper that was large enough. Transporting her to the gallery and museum was also a huge challenge. I can only imagine the trouble she encountered when she was traveling the world.
2016 The Baroque Period—People and their Pets
Another challenge I’ve also confronted is finding ways to make paper look like other materials—like fabric, bark, fur, and all sorts of things. I love this in particular: there’s something a little magical in the act of transforming paper into something completely different. Over the years, I’ve developed more involved ways of achieving this effect. A lot of what I do is intuitive, and comes from years of practice: trying different things, and seeing what works. Often people ask me how I do what I do—it’s something I’ve always had trouble answering, because my techniques have slowly evolved, and it’s been a long process of figuring things out one step at a time.
Recently, I’ve been experimenting with natural dyes and really want to explore that more. I think it gives the paper more versatility and naturalness. I would like to continue learning more as most of my methods so far are experimental and the results are very variable.
Art is both fulfilling and at times can be draining. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves. Don’t ever place a desire for recognition ahead of your work. It will come by doing your best work and by showing your best creative self. Always strive to be the best version of yourself. It’s trite, but don’t settle for a second rate version of who you are or can be.
Art is everyday. It doesn’t matter if you are making a work of art or setting the table, it should be beautiful and be deliberate. Some of the most artistic people I know aren’t exhibiting their work, but visiting their home is like going to a museum.
My favorite quote is a verse from Forever Young, by Bob Dylan. It encompasses the spirit of living life fully with purpose, and finding beauty each day. This is of course an ideal, which I hope to follow and pass on to my son.
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation,
When the winds of changes shift, May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.
You can usually find me in Seattle, where I’ve spent most of my adult life. Our house is a brick Tudor with arched doorways, and a roof made of wooden shakes. Nearby there’s a greenbelt park with rambling trails that lead to a beach and beautiful views of the Puget Sound.
I grew up in a suburb north of Seattle, and my childhood was relatively calm. My father had a furniture upholstery business. My mother helped with the business and was curious, energetic, and always striving for perfection. Both my parents were very hardworking, and they raised us to be self-reliant: for example, they wanted us to learn how to make things with our own two hands. As a result, each of us has pursued a career where we use our hands. My older brother is a fine wood worker, my younger brother continued in my father’s business as an upholsterer, and my other brother builds airplanes.
Since early childhood, I’ve always felt a need to create. My mother saved many of my very early drawings. Looking at them again as an adult, they revealed to me that even from an early age I was attracted to faraway places, exotic costumes, and embellished dresses. One of my closest childhood friends was also artistically driven. We spent a lot of time together, drawing, making paper dolls, and crudely sewing clothes for our dolls. And we were sometimes very competitive with each other, in a way that was exciting and nourished our creativity. Even as a child, I thought I’d like to have a career in art, but was never sure what form it would take.
My favorite item in my studio is a very, VERY edited old book. The title is, “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story”. I bought it at a garage sale several years ago. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read the book. I also edit my work often, so in a way I can relate, but I have never had this kind of intensity, fortunately.
One of my most formative experiences was going to Japan after I graduated from high school. I traveled there on a cultural exchange program with a group of students. These six weeks on a remote island in the inland sea was a life-changing experience for me. My Japanese host family owned a Western-style tailoring shop, which was filled with hundreds of bolts of beautiful fabrics. They were kind and patient and excited to share their unique culture with me. My host father taught me about Japanese history, art, antiques, and calligraphy.
After I returned from Japan, I attended a local college to study art and continued thinking about how I could earn a living in a creative field. But I also kept daydreaming about Japan, and wanting to keep learning about Japanese culture firsthand. Eventually, I enrolled in an intensive Japanese language course at the University of Washington and returned to Japan for six months.
I have never had this kind of intensity in my work but I can relate because I do edit often, which is why this VERY edited old book, entitled “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story” is my favorite. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read. Fortunately for me, my work is created and recreated only by me.
When I came back to Seattle, I worked as an instructional assistant at an alternative high school, teaching art for five years. Teaching was both fulfilling and challenging—it gave me a chance to think about art from the perspective of the viewer, instead of the artist.
While I was teaching art at the high school, I continued to make things. Making wearable art became my main pursuit and I participated in several fashion shows and exhibitions, primarily in the Seattle area. I incorporated Japanese fabrics and based some of my designs off what I’d seen in Japan. Eventually, I moved away from wearable art, and decided to create clothing on a much smaller scale. I made hundreds of small ten-inch figures with animal heads and elaborate costumes and sold them throughout the country.
I have been working in paper for the last fifteen years. It was a natural evolution for me. Many of the aspects of working with paper weren’t too different from sewing and constructing pieces from fabric. But because paper is much more fragile, I had to teach myself new ways of making things that wouldn’t tear the paper. My work has become more detailed over the years. I spend a lot of time thinking about different methods: like making different types of folds, embossments, and new ways of assembling the artworks. The differences are subtle, but to me, keeping the work fresh and interesting involves making these small adjustments, and always pushing myself to try new things and improve my methods. I like collecting and working with antique papers that have a history of their own. Paper, in general, is something disposable to most people.
I like thinking about how to reuse paper in completely different contexts, using each different paper as a reference point back to the artwork. My most recent series using old uncirculated money was especially fun to use in this way.
In many ways, I’d like for my work to speak for itself. Ideally, a visitor would be able to look at the artwork and be transported to another time and place. When I’m making my art, I spend a lot of time imagining and creating backstories about each piece. For certain series, I do a lot of researching about the different time period that I’m trying to evoke in the artwork. Not all of this will be apparent to the visitor, but I’d like for them to be able to see beyond the details in each piece and have a deeper experience with the artwork.
Since much of my work is based in history, traveling is the vehicle that brings me closest to my subject. Seattle is beautiful, but it’s a relatively new city. It’s not easy for me to have a sense of the past near my hometown. Italy has been my muse more recently. My Italian heritage wasn’t a strong part of my upbringing. However, the first time I went to Italy, I felt a strong and immediate bond, which I think comes out subtly in my work. It’s a place where I feel I can almost time travel. My husband and son also share this passion, which has prompted us to buy a small, historic apartment in the ancient town of Bergamo, in Northern Italy. With inspiration just outside our door, I am planning to work occasionally from this beautiful town.
When I am at home in Seattle, and trying to put myself into the mindset of another era, I enjoy watching movies set in a historic time, and reading the New York Times archive from a hundred years ago. I’ve based two groups of figures on articles that I have researched about real people in the New York Times. Even though I need to imagine what their lives would have been like, their challenges and triumphs are very moving to me.
I am fortunate to have a husband who supports and appreciates what I do. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves, which doesn’t necessarily bring high profit. Although I like to think of myself as an artist, I know my work falls somewhere between craft and art, and it’s difficult to find a venue for people in my arena. I have exhibited my work with Curtis Steiner in Seattle for 14 years and am also grateful for this relationship.
The role an artist has is usually very personal, but generally art is an attempt to stimulate the audience to thinking or looking at something in a different way.
Before I begin a new piece, I think about what I want to express in my work. If there is research involved, I do that first until I feel comfortable to start. My process is basically trial and error. First I select a color palette that evokes the mood I want, and then I lay out several sheets of paper and ephemera to choose from. I have a general idea of what it should look like, but as I work, ideas come to me so often the finished piece is quite different than my original idea. Working without a definite plan works well for me. I work better without structure, and open options. The result seems more natural to me as well.
I often carry my work with me when I travel. Long car drives afford me hours of work with good lighting.
2014 Eccentric Misfits and Uncommon Characters. I made this paper June bride a few years years back. I searched the 1875-1910 New York Times for articles about people who had acted out in peculiar ways. I gave them animal heads. This runaway bride disappeared on a train the day of the wedding. She’s all paper (head too) standing about twelve inches… tiny flowers.
I have a show each year with a different theme, so the message behind my work does vary, however everything I do gestures toward remembrance. I want to give a voice to people, especially women, who have been forgotten. I did the most research for a series based on criminals and misfits. I researched the New York Times online archives, concentrating on the period between 1875 and 1915. I found many more people that I wanted to profile, but tried to select a range of crimes, always leaning toward the portrayal of the more unusual person or crime. Whenever my work focuses on a particular time and place, I try to learn as much a possible. I listen to podcasts, watch videos and read a lot, basically anything that will put me in the mood of a particular time period. The more I research, the better I’m able to evoke the mood of that time and place. For every hundred things I learn about each subject, maybe one single detail makes it into the artwork itself—but that’s part of the fun of it for me.
From 2012… part of a series I did after researching criminals in the New York Times. Shoplifter reported in the late 1880’s.
I like going to museums of all types— I especially love viewing museums within historic homes, where the artworks are displayed among other objects and relics from the time period. These places that combine history and biography are really inspiring to me. It had always been my dream to exhibit my work in a museum. Spring 2019 I had a one woman show at The Bainbridge Island Art museum with over 30 pieces of my work. I would love to show my work again in a similar setting to share my work with a broader audience.
The biggest challenge in both scale and technique was creating a 72 Russian giantess. Elizabeth Lyska lived in the late 1890’s. She traveled the world as a sideshow act and was beloved everywhere she went. I wanted to replicate her exactly, at her actual height. It was a huge challenge to work with this scale: I spent a lot of time standing on a table, and it was very difficult finding paper that was large enough. Transporting her to the gallery and museum was also a huge challenge. I can only imagine the trouble she encountered when she was traveling the world.
2016 The Baroque Period—People and their Pets
Another challenge I’ve also confronted is finding ways to make paper look like other materials—like fabric, bark, fur, and all sorts of things. I love this in particular: there’s something a little magical in the act of transforming paper into something completely different. Over the years, I’ve developed more involved ways of achieving this effect. A lot of what I do is intuitive, and comes from years of practice: trying different things, and seeing what works. Often people ask me how I do what I do—it’s something I’ve always had trouble answering, because my techniques have slowly evolved, and it’s been a long process of figuring things out one step at a time.
Recently, I’ve been experimenting with natural dyes and really want to explore that more. I think it gives the paper more versatility and naturalness. I would like to continue learning more as most of my methods so far are experimental and the results are very variable.
Art is both fulfilling and at times can be draining. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves. Don’t ever place a desire for recognition ahead of your work. It will come by doing your best work and by showing your best creative self. Always strive to be the best version of yourself. It’s trite, but don’t settle for a second rate version of who you are or can be.
Art is everyday. It doesn’t matter if you are making a work of art or setting the table, it should be beautiful and be deliberate. Some of the most artistic people I know aren’t exhibiting their work, but visiting their home is like going to a museum.
My favorite quote is a verse from Forever Young, by Bob Dylan. It encompasses the spirit of living life fully with purpose, and finding beauty each day. This is of course an ideal, which I hope to follow and pass on to my son.
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation,
When the winds of changes shift, May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.
Related Stories
You can usually find me in Seattle, where I’ve spent most of my adult life. Our house is a brick Tudor with arched doorways, and a roof made of wooden shakes. Nearby there’s a greenbelt park with rambling trails that lead to a beach and beautiful views of the Puget Sound.
I grew up in a suburb north of Seattle, and my childhood was relatively calm. My father had a furniture upholstery business. My mother helped with the business and was curious, energetic, and always striving for perfection. Both my parents were very hardworking, and they raised us to be self-reliant: for example, they wanted us to learn how to make things with our own two hands. As a result, each of us has pursued a career where we use our hands. My older brother is a fine wood worker, my younger brother continued in my father’s business as an upholsterer, and my other brother builds airplanes.
Since early childhood, I’ve always felt a need to create. My mother saved many of my very early drawings. Looking at them again as an adult, they revealed to me that even from an early age I was attracted to faraway places, exotic costumes, and embellished dresses. One of my closest childhood friends was also artistically driven. We spent a lot of time together, drawing, making paper dolls, and crudely sewing clothes for our dolls. And we were sometimes very competitive with each other, in a way that was exciting and nourished our creativity. Even as a child, I thought I’d like to have a career in art, but was never sure what form it would take.
My favorite item in my studio is a very, VERY edited old book. The title is, “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story”. I bought it at a garage sale several years ago. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read the book. I also edit my work often, so in a way I can relate, but I have never had this kind of intensity, fortunately.
One of my most formative experiences was going to Japan after I graduated from high school. I traveled there on a cultural exchange program with a group of students. These six weeks on a remote island in the inland sea was a life-changing experience for me. My Japanese host family owned a Western-style tailoring shop, which was filled with hundreds of bolts of beautiful fabrics. They were kind and patient and excited to share their unique culture with me. My host father taught me about Japanese history, art, antiques, and calligraphy.
After I returned from Japan, I attended a local college to study art and continued thinking about how I could earn a living in a creative field. But I also kept daydreaming about Japan, and wanting to keep learning about Japanese culture firsthand. Eventually, I enrolled in an intensive Japanese language course at the University of Washington and returned to Japan for six months.
I have never had this kind of intensity in my work but I can relate because I do edit often, which is why this VERY edited old book, entitled “The Only Two Ways to Write a Story” is my favorite. A zealous editor worked on this book so many times, reconstructing every line on every page that it’s completely impossible to read. Fortunately for me, my work is created and recreated only by me.
When I came back to Seattle, I worked as an instructional assistant at an alternative high school, teaching art for five years. Teaching was both fulfilling and challenging—it gave me a chance to think about art from the perspective of the viewer, instead of the artist.
While I was teaching art at the high school, I continued to make things. Making wearable art became my main pursuit and I participated in several fashion shows and exhibitions, primarily in the Seattle area. I incorporated Japanese fabrics and based some of my designs off what I’d seen in Japan. Eventually, I moved away from wearable art, and decided to create clothing on a much smaller scale. I made hundreds of small ten-inch figures with animal heads and elaborate costumes and sold them throughout the country.
I have been working in paper for the last fifteen years. It was a natural evolution for me. Many of the aspects of working with paper weren’t too different from sewing and constructing pieces from fabric. But because paper is much more fragile, I had to teach myself new ways of making things that wouldn’t tear the paper. My work has become more detailed over the years. I spend a lot of time thinking about different methods: like making different types of folds, embossments, and new ways of assembling the artworks. The differences are subtle, but to me, keeping the work fresh and interesting involves making these small adjustments, and always pushing myself to try new things and improve my methods. I like collecting and working with antique papers that have a history of their own. Paper, in general, is something disposable to most people.
I like thinking about how to reuse paper in completely different contexts, using each different paper as a reference point back to the artwork. My most recent series using old uncirculated money was especially fun to use in this way.
In many ways, I’d like for my work to speak for itself. Ideally, a visitor would be able to look at the artwork and be transported to another time and place. When I’m making my art, I spend a lot of time imagining and creating backstories about each piece. For certain series, I do a lot of researching about the different time period that I’m trying to evoke in the artwork. Not all of this will be apparent to the visitor, but I’d like for them to be able to see beyond the details in each piece and have a deeper experience with the artwork.
Since much of my work is based in history, traveling is the vehicle that brings me closest to my subject. Seattle is beautiful, but it’s a relatively new city. It’s not easy for me to have a sense of the past near my hometown. Italy has been my muse more recently. My Italian heritage wasn’t a strong part of my upbringing. However, the first time I went to Italy, I felt a strong and immediate bond, which I think comes out subtly in my work. It’s a place where I feel I can almost time travel. My husband and son also share this passion, which has prompted us to buy a small, historic apartment in the ancient town of Bergamo, in Northern Italy. With inspiration just outside our door, I am planning to work occasionally from this beautiful town.
When I am at home in Seattle, and trying to put myself into the mindset of another era, I enjoy watching movies set in a historic time, and reading the New York Times archive from a hundred years ago. I’ve based two groups of figures on articles that I have researched about real people in the New York Times. Even though I need to imagine what their lives would have been like, their challenges and triumphs are very moving to me.
I am fortunate to have a husband who supports and appreciates what I do. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves, which doesn’t necessarily bring high profit. Although I like to think of myself as an artist, I know my work falls somewhere between craft and art, and it’s difficult to find a venue for people in my arena. I have exhibited my work with Curtis Steiner in Seattle for 14 years and am also grateful for this relationship.
The role an artist has is usually very personal, but generally art is an attempt to stimulate the audience to thinking or looking at something in a different way.
Before I begin a new piece, I think about what I want to express in my work. If there is research involved, I do that first until I feel comfortable to start. My process is basically trial and error. First I select a color palette that evokes the mood I want, and then I lay out several sheets of paper and ephemera to choose from. I have a general idea of what it should look like, but as I work, ideas come to me so often the finished piece is quite different than my original idea. Working without a definite plan works well for me. I work better without structure, and open options. The result seems more natural to me as well.
I often carry my work with me when I travel. Long car drives afford me hours of work with good lighting.
2014 Eccentric Misfits and Uncommon Characters. I made this paper June bride a few years years back. I searched the 1875-1910 New York Times for articles about people who had acted out in peculiar ways. I gave them animal heads. This runaway bride disappeared on a train the day of the wedding. She’s all paper (head too) standing about twelve inches… tiny flowers.
I have a show each year with a different theme, so the message behind my work does vary, however everything I do gestures toward remembrance. I want to give a voice to people, especially women, who have been forgotten. I did the most research for a series based on criminals and misfits. I researched the New York Times online archives, concentrating on the period between 1875 and 1915. I found many more people that I wanted to profile, but tried to select a range of crimes, always leaning toward the portrayal of the more unusual person or crime. Whenever my work focuses on a particular time and place, I try to learn as much a possible. I listen to podcasts, watch videos and read a lot, basically anything that will put me in the mood of a particular time period. The more I research, the better I’m able to evoke the mood of that time and place. For every hundred things I learn about each subject, maybe one single detail makes it into the artwork itself—but that’s part of the fun of it for me.
From 2012… part of a series I did after researching criminals in the New York Times. Shoplifter reported in the late 1880’s.
I like going to museums of all types— I especially love viewing museums within historic homes, where the artworks are displayed among other objects and relics from the time period. These places that combine history and biography are really inspiring to me. It had always been my dream to exhibit my work in a museum. Spring 2019 I had a one woman show at The Bainbridge Island Art museum with over 30 pieces of my work. I would love to show my work again in a similar setting to share my work with a broader audience.
The biggest challenge in both scale and technique was creating a 72 Russian giantess. Elizabeth Lyska lived in the late 1890’s. She traveled the world as a sideshow act and was beloved everywhere she went. I wanted to replicate her exactly, at her actual height. It was a huge challenge to work with this scale: I spent a lot of time standing on a table, and it was very difficult finding paper that was large enough. Transporting her to the gallery and museum was also a huge challenge. I can only imagine the trouble she encountered when she was traveling the world.
2016 The Baroque Period—People and their Pets
Another challenge I’ve also confronted is finding ways to make paper look like other materials—like fabric, bark, fur, and all sorts of things. I love this in particular: there’s something a little magical in the act of transforming paper into something completely different. Over the years, I’ve developed more involved ways of achieving this effect. A lot of what I do is intuitive, and comes from years of practice: trying different things, and seeing what works. Often people ask me how I do what I do—it’s something I’ve always had trouble answering, because my techniques have slowly evolved, and it’s been a long process of figuring things out one step at a time.
Recently, I’ve been experimenting with natural dyes and really want to explore that more. I think it gives the paper more versatility and naturalness. I would like to continue learning more as most of my methods so far are experimental and the results are very variable.
Art is both fulfilling and at times can be draining. Most artists create out of a need to express themselves. Don’t ever place a desire for recognition ahead of your work. It will come by doing your best work and by showing your best creative self. Always strive to be the best version of yourself. It’s trite, but don’t settle for a second rate version of who you are or can be.
Art is everyday. It doesn’t matter if you are making a work of art or setting the table, it should be beautiful and be deliberate. Some of the most artistic people I know aren’t exhibiting their work, but visiting their home is like going to a museum.
My favorite quote is a verse from Forever Young, by Bob Dylan. It encompasses the spirit of living life fully with purpose, and finding beauty each day. This is of course an ideal, which I hope to follow and pass on to my son.
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation,
When the winds of changes shift, May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.
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