I build inept structures with abandon. I build aqueducts and bridges from memory, ignoring both the engineers and the voices in my head telling me what a girl like me should be painting.

My goals and process are unencumbered by common sense. Like an expressionist forced to collaborate on a tree fort, I realize that if it is going to get done, I need to do it myself. I build by “farmer method,” the resulting lack of precision bothering my carpenter-husband’s sense of order.  Who needs a level? Home Depot sells angle braces. Mason’s twine comes in the exact oranges and pinks I crave.

I want my art to achieve the grandeur of the go-carts that we made when we were kids playing in the backyard of the center of the universe. 

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