Possible Worlds & Alternative Histories

I make landscapes that don't quite exist …places assembled from memory, imagination, and the space between them, where the real and the unreal overlap and time folds back on itself. For Possible Worlds & Alternative Histories, I'm treating landscape as a set of branching possibilities: the places we remember are never the only version of what happened there, and the places we imagine are never entirely invented. Every landscape I build is one of many it could have been. My work moves across painting, dimensional and sculptural elements, print, and collage, using color, shape, and spatial ambiguity to suggest movement and transformation. Rocks drift, horizons shift, structures dissolve into atmosphere…nothing here is static, caught mid-change the way a memory reshapes itself each time you return to it.1

This show includes a new series, Fragmented Cartographies, alongside other work in the exhibition. I started with silkscreens of aerial photographs and tax parcel maps of land I bought and the surrounding land, cut them apart, and collaged those aerial fragments into a ground-level view — the landscape as it looks from your own two feet, not from above. Once that landscape was built, I reconnected the once-disconnected aerial pieces with lines standing in for property lines and township boundaries: a forward-and-backward dance between how we understand land on paper, surveyed and parceled from above, and how we actually experience it on the ground.1

I'm drawn to liminal space, the threshold where one thing becomes another. A botanic garden feels like the right place for this: already a site of adjacent possibility, cultivated and wild at once, holding centuries of growth, decay, and renewal in the same soil. My process is intuitive, often working across several series at once so ideas echo between them. Rather than depict specific places, I construct spaces that feel lived-in but unplaceable… familiar enough to enter, strange enough that you have to finish yourself. Some of that goes back to childhood books like The Secret Garden, Narnia, and Shel Silverstein, which made a landscape feel like a door into somewhere else. I don't think of this work as fantasy, or as record. It sits in between, the world as it was, as it wasn't, and as it still might be. My hope is viewers leave carrying a landscape of their own, a little unresolved and open enough to keep changing.