About

While studying psychology in college, I became fascinated by the theories of Carl Jung. In Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Jung wrote, “The sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.” His belief that wholeness depends on knowledge and acceptance of the subconscious mind became a powerful influence on the way I understand memory, identity, and creativity.

I was sexually abused as a child, and for many years into adulthood I had no conscious memory of what had happened. Only after college, marriage, and the birth of my daughter did those memories begin to resurface, following a dream. It was as if I had always known. In my effort to understand how memories can be lost and recovered, I became increasingly drawn to dreams, the nature of spirit, and the act of making art.

Dreams offer one way to glimpse the inner workings of the subconscious mind. They often sit at the edge of awareness, holding meaning in story form even when their images first appear fragmented or obscure. Through journaling and reflection, I have come to understand dreams as new arrangements of past and present experience, revealing previously unrecognized aspects of the self through metaphor and personal symbols. At times, the journaling process also makes me aware of synchronicities that might otherwise pass unnoticed. As subconscious material rises into awareness, we begin to see ourselves in a different light. The act of remembering changes our relationship to the past, allowing the present and future to change as well. We are always in the process of being transformed.

For more than forty years, I have created an evolving series of miniature constructions that explore possible ways the subconscious makes itself known. I am drawn to small spaces that invite the viewer to look closely and enter imaginatively. The house is my central metaphor for the subconscious, representing all that is interior. Corners of basements, closets, bathrooms, bedrooms, suitcases, books, doors, drawers, and cupboards become spaces and containers for what is hidden.

For me, the creative process is as important as the finished work. After drawing a plan, calculating scale, and creating a mockup, I begin building from the inside out. Gatorboard forms the structure, and wallpaper covers many of the surfaces. An artist’s mixing palette may become a sink; the head of a picture-hanging nail, a doorknob; a bead, a teapot with an earring back for a spout. The building process becomes a balance between manipulating scale, transforming ordinary objects, and visually expressing the work’s underlying concept.

My artwork today is an extension of the paper doll houses I built as a child, when a jewelry box could become a dresser, a perfume bottle a lamp, a book a bed, and a handkerchief a bedspread. That early imaginative transformation of everyday objects continues to shape my work, linking memory, making, and meaning.