In the gap between knowledge and experience, I drop the seeds of myself. They grow into a gnarled ball of roots over which I trip and skin my knees.

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Almost all of everything can be explained with chemistry and physics. For the bit left over, we write poetry and make art. My art is looking for the space between measurements and metaphors.

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Most of my work from the last ten years takes the form of diagrammatic sculptures. I often begin by thinking of my flesh-and-bone body as a planet in space. I map my latitudes, perimeters, rotations, orbits, and collisions. Using repetitive processes, I seek an elusive moment when what is exact in the mind becomes fluid in the hand, a place where “thoughts untie themselves,” as Matthieu Ricard says.

Fiber materials are well suited to this effort. From plain weave to Gordian knot, fiber is quiet and confounding, invisible and ubiquitous, a membranous skin and a taut line. A single stitch has the power to turn two into one. A crochet hook — once bone — is immanent with the infinite, irrational, sublime, fractal universe.

I don’t believe in transcendence. I’m a systems thinker looking for recursive paths through fluid boundaries. My research meanders through disciplines, including cognitive psychology, mathematics, and philosophy.