To erase the imperfection is to erase the identity.

There are objects that are discarded or overlooked, yet carry a distinct presence. The end grain cut from lumber, or the study papers scattered across my room — these are things often thrown away or not considered usable as material. My work begins with my inability to simply pass by such objects. I observe the material qualities of these objects and consider how they might expand in meaning within my work. The distinct qualities I find in them are not defects to be erased, but part of their identity. At times, that identity becomes the very presence of the object. I do not erase that identity; I bring it forward. By adding necessary elements, stacking, or arranging, I create structures in which those qualities can remain. In Kiwa (Roof Tile), fragile pieces of end grain, prone to cracking and breaking, are stacked and arranged into a single form. In Baram (Wind), the irregular shapes marked on study papers scattered across my room are arranged without order. The two bodies of work are alike in that this quality takes the form of imperfection, yet what they share is the attitude of leaving that imperfection within the structure. I wait for another presence to enter my sight.