I always strived to follow precise rule with measurement. I aimed at perfection but I left “errors” to showcase that there is beauty of a sort in them, a comfort that we are not machines. Sometimes after making a drawing with painstaking precision I would throw ink onto the work to acknowledge that strive and plan as we do to have control, there will always be something to show us that we don’t. I often incorporated the roll of a die to acknowledge chance, too (I still do).

I experienced a traumatic loss in August 2021. It removed me from the imagined, structured place from which I had been working, and it magnified the side that can’t be described or controlled. I started to look more at that which isn’t the grid and in so doing I start to see more dimension. I start to see the space between and around the weight of the structure and its precision. I’m recognizing that there is no solidity without porosity, no order without chaos, and vice versa.  I’m now tearing into different layers and finding ways to mend them. I’m finding my way back to - but with a new definition of- stability, precision, and beauty.