I’m a basement-based artist who uses humor, play and storytelling throughout my work. Searching for love, laughter and a well-balanced lunch, I transform my day jobs into an extension of my studio. Through the labor of an 8-hour shift, my work explores identity within a performance-based consumer culture, more concerned with “what you do” rather than “who you are.” Across the counter, I blur the line between employee and customer, performance and reality, art and life.

Playfully upending the existential fabrics of my daily interactions and environment, I continually revert to my childhood. Growing up my father was a pastor. My mother a pharmacist. Both occupations promote health. One centered on the body. The other, spiritual. Ultimately each are grappling with death. One prolonging life as long as possible, the latter embracing death, with the potential of life here after.

The core of my artistic practice lies in my attempt to reconcile the disconnect I have felt between the physical and the spiritual and the many dichotomies within. It’s no mistake that my earliest childhood painting depicts a self-portrait of a sad clown. 30 years later, I still fluctuate between comedy and tragedy.