Having lived a childhood of constant movement and travel I quickly realized my creativity was one constant I could always take with me. The landscapes and places of my childhood deeply inspired and informed me, from the mountains of home in Colorado, to the waves and coastlines of Hawaii, I could not have asked for a more stunning backdrop to a more adventurous life. My father, Ed, was a mind all his own. He was a farmer, a builder, a glider pilot and a musician. He reveled in being on the road in his old Ford pickup and could pilot any vessel: plane, glider, truck, sailboat. As one of his kids, I was taken along for the ride to places nearly unimaginable.

Finding stability by high school was very much needed. At Fountain Valley I was beyond fortunate to come across my first ceramics teacher, Mark Dillon, who introduced me to my very own creative outlet. For three years I discovered throwing, hand building, coil pots, and various forms of surface decoration and firing. I knew I would continue with it, one way or another.

Sitting down to write this statement has taken many attempts. I have grappled with listing out my educational experiences and apprenticeships as if they prove my validity as a ceramicist. Really, what I feel and know of clay is that I will always be learning and changing and developing my skill, myself. There is no one way or end point in this art form. Clay is all at once forgiving and rigid. It is humbling and rewarding. At any point sitting down at my wheel, I may be baffled or impressed with my ability or lack thereof, and that is simply the way it is. Mostly, I love the history of clay. It’s beauty and functionality. Red clay, white clay, all the browns in between, and its many stages of the process, leave me wanting to continue to learn and teach every day.