I’ve always told stories and I’ve always made things with my hands. I love the stories that are already told in found objects, natural materials, or articles from another time. I put them all in my caravan, always looking for the lost, the forgotten, and the unseen.
In some ways, my creatures make themselves. They rise up from the forest floor or the trunk of an old attic and inhabit the world for an ephemeral life span, serving as guardians, companions, or messengers from another world.
They don’t always make us comfortable.
They are entirely themselves.