Metal smells tangy in a way that can be all-consuming. Clay smells like an old book; it’s alive. In the studio, my hands get dirty, smelling of copper, mud, or ink. Gradually, the relationships between materials and my hands in them become clear. Something like birth can occur, awakening the senses and leaving marks of the process behind. 

My own birth was marked by my twinship, by being beside and separate from my asymmetrical other half. Before I knew myself, I knew symmetries and the lack of symmetries. How alike do the parts facing each other have to be to be symmetrical? Are iron chains and paper chains twins? Is the same object made from different materials symmetrical or not? Does what you smell pair with what I touch? I explore these questions through my work with metal, ceramics, ink, and found materials.

The works that propose my answers to questions about symmetry bear the handmade marks of my efforts to bring them to birth. I am drawn to organic forms and imperfect shapes that may be irregular but hint at hidden symmetries, lost connections, as yet undiscovered harmonies. Perhaps viewers of my art, wearers of my jewelry, users of my wares, may find invitations to see beauty in imperfection, connection in difference, difference in twinship, all while being reminded of the sensory experience that links us to the materials themselves.