The Talking Cure project drew upon my interest in storytelling, how each of us perceives the world and the stories we make up in order to make sense of it all. When people looked at my work, the question I got most often was “What’s it mean?” to which I would reply “what’s it mean to YOU?”. I designed The Talking Cure to be interactive and ask the audience to engage in an active way. That’s a bare bones description of the exhibition design. What happened next is both delightful and complex.

The first two of a dozen exhibitions were at for-profit galleries. Though the project resonated immediately with the public, no sales were made. After conferring with a wise gallery owner who told me, essentially “this is not a selling show, this is a museum show,” I rebooted my thinking and set out to navigate the non-profit art world. Taken as a whole the 24 works of art and the monologues and voices were really an entity unto themselves–a little Universe of people, images, dreams, stories and voices.

Much to my surprise and delight the exhibition began to get bookings around the country. This included travel, insurance, modest stipend for me and, at my insistence the requirement that each institution have me come and embed to engage with the public around the subject of storytelling. I wanted to hear what people thought of each story, and I wanted them to have the chance to tell their stories, whether it be through artwork, writing or verbally. I have discovered that everyone has a story to tell and most people want to share that in some form. Along with museum education departments I began to develop school curriculum projects so that museums could work with students of all ages and members of the public through community programs.

Because my work is seemingly non-threatening, using simple materials and imagery, I found that people of all ages were responding in singular and delightful ways. Kids found the work funny. Because many of the pieces are the size of small children, they related to them. Adults often found the work humorous, but with a darker side, reminding them of childhood and it’s memories, both good and bad. The exhibition crossed all sorts divides between people and touched on many commonalities we share.

Museums began to target various segments of their local populations with programing to draw folks in. At the Weisman Museum in Minneapolis, the education department developed programs for military veterans with PTSD, using spoken word and poetry to encourage storytelling. They had MFA students in the fashion design program use my work as the inspirational jumping off point for student fashion designs for their senior shows. The Akron Art Museum invited the MFA students from the Kent State Creative Writing Program to pair up with local Seniors; they wrote the stories of one another’s lives. The Kranzberg Art Center in St. Louis brought in “at-risk” teens for a slam poetry program around the ideas of learning to express your feelings. They had a local dance company choreograph and perform in the gallery – in and around the artwork- based on the figurative gestures and poses. Hundreds of school groups have attended the exhibitions.

I could go on and on. The programing and community engagement has been extraordinary. Never in my life did I imagine that I would make something that touched so many people. I have traveled around the country and met extraordinary people. I’ve listened to their stories and heard what they thought of mine. Of course, as an artist, you want your work to affect people, to be meaningful and have some lasting power. The Talking Cure Project has gone somewhere I never imagined and I am deeply grateful both for those in the museum world who supported and nourished it and for all of the people who listened to the stories and in turn, told their own.

I work in a wide variety of mixed materials, combining them to form figurative sculptures and drawings that are imbued with emotion, psychology and humor. They inhabit their own worlds and though occasionally missing a limb or two, they stand tall in the face of the adversity. Using dark humor and a sometimes absurdist view of the world I find themes and emotions that touch each viewer in a personal way. The figures cross all boundaries to express the myriad of feelings and experiences that humans share.

My work reflects memories and emotional states in which we all may find ourselves. Recent work reflects the confinement and self-exploration of the pandemic, the awkwardness of relationships, and the need to be connected that exists along with the need to be alone as an artist. There is a psychologically uneasy shift between who we are when we are alone with ourselves and who we are when we are with others. Each sculpture is an experiment in storytelling, its narrative, both individual and universal, personal and political, dark, humorous, and inviting.

I work in a wide range of materials to create loosely narrative work in both 2 and 3 dimensions. Discovering how to join clay, wood, resin, paper, metal, plastic, paint, ink, graphite and so on is a huge part of my technical process. The secret for me is to be able to use all those differing materials and surfaces in such a way that they look seamless– that the work looks “born that way.” You look at them, and there is no other possible way for them to be. Learning to work with such disparate materials has taken decades. This process, of course must be married to the content. Experiments in balance, both technical and conceptual, are key to my creative practice. The materiality of the pieces has to dance with the emotional narrative story of each sculpture or drawing.

As the world has opened up I’ve had some days to forcefully pick myself up and get back on the proverbial horse. Not in terms of makings things; I always have ideas and am excited about the work itself. However, the business side of being an artist- marketing, social media, schmoozing, writing grants, writing show proposals -is a slog in the best of times. Since the pandemic the weight of having to do so much often lays heavily.

Yet, I keep going, because that’s what artists do. As the pandemic eased, I had a wonderful retrospective of my work in Kingston, New York, a show called “Stronger Than Dirt.” Reinvention and revitalization are the essence of making art. That’s why they called it “the Renaissance” !