As an older woman and lifelong artist, I’m navigating aging in a culture that often sidelines both age and softness. My work now is a response to that erasure—and a celebration of energy, curiosity, and human experience. I began as a fiber artist, trained first in textile design and later in computer graphics and animation. But a trip to Egypt brought me back to working with my hands, and something shifted.

Since then, my practice has continued to evolve: from quilt making to felting to sculpting small creatures; from salvaging discarded toys to building forms that seem to hum with their own energy. I believe everything is energy, and that everything holds some form of consciousness. I like to think the work is watching the viewer, just as the viewer is watching it.

What I create isn’t always easy to define—and that’s part of the point. I’m not trying to explain everything. I’m trying to offer something—maybe a bit strange, but not unkind. Something that asks to be looked at a little longer. I hope people feel something in it: a sense of play, of memory, of quiet defiance aimed at creating better humans. My work is a transmission of what I’ve learned in this life—offered in the hope that others might take it in without having to take as long to get there themselves.

That’s the point of a human experience, I think: to learn, to share, and to let others find their own way.

If my work helps someone feel seen or stirred—even just a little—then I’ve done what I came here to do.