34.7998° N, 87.6773° W
My work begins with encounter.
I am interested in what happens when a person comes into contact with a material, a story, a place, or another person—and especially when something previously hidden becomes visible. I have worked across textiles, photography, film, writing, installation, archives, and collaborative making, but these forms are connected by the same questions: What does material remember? Where does work reside? How is knowledge carried through the hand? What can a place reveal when we become curious and learn how to read it?
Making is both subject and method in my practice. It is repetition, handwork, documentation, conversation, and the full circle of materials—from the earth to the earth.
Cloth is never only cloth; it carries histories of agriculture, humanity, manufacturing, trade, use, repair, life, and the body. A stitch can be structural, decorative, mnemonic, or evidentiary. I learned early in my practice that a garment can be a portrait, an archive, or a map.
For more than twenty-six years, my work has been rooted in place. Working from one community over time has allowed the practice to widen rather than narrow. The work led to land; land led to agriculture, economy, memory, and community; and those inquiries led increasingly toward the connections among them.
I am drawn to interactions that reveal the unseen: seams turned inside out; the visible hand of the maker left intact. When that hand is not erased, I see poetry. In this work, oral histories are transcribed into cloth. Photographs record encounters. Installations bring objects, people, and histories into relationship with one another. Films become memory. The work often becomes collaborative because the histories embedded in materials are collective.
Across the work, that inquiry now runs on two parallel tracks: material research into what cotton can become — biological, compostable, regenerative — and Mapping Cotton, which asks what cotton reveals about land, labor, and memory. Different questions, the same obsession.
I am interested in what happens when a person comes into contact with a material, a story, a place, or another person—and especially when something previously hidden becomes visible. I have worked across textiles, photography, film, writing, installation, archives, and collaborative making, but these forms are connected by the same questions: What does material remember? Where does work reside? How is knowledge carried through the hand? What can a place reveal when we become curious and learn how to read it?
Making is both subject and method in my practice. It is repetition, handwork, documentation, conversation, and the full circle of materials—from the earth to the earth.
Cloth is never only cloth; it carries histories of agriculture, humanity, manufacturing, trade, use, repair, life, and the body. A stitch can be structural, decorative, mnemonic, or evidentiary. I learned early in my practice that a garment can be a portrait, an archive, or a map.
For more than twenty-six years, my work has been rooted in place. Working from one community over time has allowed the practice to widen rather than narrow. The work led to land; land led to agriculture, economy, memory, and community; and those inquiries led increasingly toward the connections among them.
I am drawn to interactions that reveal the unseen: seams turned inside out; the visible hand of the maker left intact. When that hand is not erased, I see poetry. In this work, oral histories are transcribed into cloth. Photographs record encounters. Installations bring objects, people, and histories into relationship with one another. Films become memory. The work often becomes collaborative because the histories embedded in materials are collective.
Across the work, that inquiry now runs on two parallel tracks: material research into what cotton can become — biological, compostable, regenerative — and Mapping Cotton, which asks what cotton reveals about land, labor, and memory. Different questions, the same obsession.