I think a lot about people, about space. About people in each other’s space, about spaces after the people have left, about people who lost their spaces; about what they left behind or took with them. Space can be gendered, women in the kitchen and men in the garage, or women in nail salon and men in the hardware store. As our world is quickly becoming aware of the fluidity of gender, it seems like antiquated gender roles are determined to stick around just a bit longer.

Space sometimes needs permission to be used, although it is sometimes strong armed. A dimly lit park at night is democratized by the installation of street lights. But even walking on a well-lit street at night I will find an excuse to stop and let the strange man behind me pass, what must it feel like to be him, and constantly assumed an aggressor?

Whole neighbourhoods can be segregated: by income, by immigration wave, by colour. Yuppies in the burbs, yogis in the Wholefoods, crumbling sidewalks in the hood.

Buildings and the spaces they occupy are vessels, they hold within them residue of the lives that have passed through them, while their outsides are reflections of their time and place.



My scenes center on meticulously created ceramic buildings that have been made to scale using Google Maps. Sourcing my references this way allows me to be a voyeur of these spaces from the safety of my studio perch, and is reminiscent of the outsiderness I experienced while working in the trades. This technology also allows me to travel back in time, in some places up to seven years, to choose the specific moment in that space’s history to depict the building. Once a site is chosen I render it three dimensionally in two-point perspective causing the buildings to become skewed and rooves pitch at awkward angles. This fun-house effect hinting that something about this charming little world is not right; my money is on the illusion of the American dream.