This must be the place. Really out here. Northwest Nebraska's open skies, with the wind, the dust, the light, the snow, the field, the fire...

Here, the horizons and dry grasses make you look longer; they test you.

Wait.

Wait.

There is something in those subtle shifts of light. Maybe its just nothing.

Wait.

Most of my work is produced through a cyclical process of composing, ripping up, rebuilding, recomposing, ripping, repeating. Sometimes with thoughtful intent and sometimes at a loss with the chaos of it all. My art is a reflection on being born, raised, living, and working in one place. The place of my parents, the place of my grandparents. The place of my students. The Sunday dinner table. The high school halls. The courthouse lawn. Habits, rituals and traditions. The same stories remembered and retold. Again and again. Each scrap of paper, each erasure is a memory of old stories, composed & recomposed like the landscape when it meets the will of the sky.