I search my surroundings for clues to the way things came to be. I look for relationships between form and function and get satisfaction from recognizing the cause which determined the outcome. The evergreens along a shoreline are cropped in a straight line when deer grazing on the frozen lake trim them as high as they can reach. Winding paths are left in the snow from bicycles wobbling slowly uphill while straight tracks indicate bikes coasting down smoothly.

Physicists, like my dad, always strive to understand the surrounding universe, enjoying a rainbow more knowing it is the visible spectrum of light refracting though raindrops. As an artist, I try to create micro-systems where forces are at play and patterns can be recognized. A heavy object can leave its mark in the malleable sand in one instance or pull tight an elastic string in another. My sculptures are unmistakable for their simplicity, each with a very short material list. Decisions I make in my compositions are never arbitrary, but rather rely on rules, supported by reason, conveying truth. A curved stick dictates a specific sized circle; four individual wheels are positioned to allude to a missing object they could transport; an object with three perpendicular sides must use a room’s corner as its habitat.

I ground my work in the mundane by use of familiar objects. I line up staples, nails, rubber-bands, wheels or string as a way to determine a line quality, a color, the texture of a surface. I employ functional objects, remove them from their original context and assign them a new role. Books become building blocks when pressed together by clamps. A series of matches outlines a log but instead of setting the wood on fire, the matches pass the flame from one to the next. The result, rather than seeming absurd, is convincing in its own logic.