Installation Art
Dream
November 2018-February 2019
Mountain West Montessori Academy, South Jordan, Utah
Children are natural dreamers. It seems like something happens in our process of growing up that mutes that ability. In Dream, I wanted to highlight the hopes and aspirations that the students at Mountain West Montessori Academy have for the future. My hope is that they will remember creating their paper airplanes, carry the dreams they depicted onward in their hearts, and at some point work to realize those dreams.
November 2018-February 2019
Mountain West Montessori Academy, South Jordan, Utah
Children are natural dreamers. It seems like something happens in our process of growing up that mutes that ability. In Dream, I wanted to highlight the hopes and aspirations that the students at Mountain West Montessori Academy have for the future. My hope is that they will remember creating their paper airplanes, carry the dreams they depicted onward in their hearts, and at some point work to realize those dreams.
Deterioration of Memory, 2014
Solo show
Harris Fine Arts Center, Brigham Young University
Our memory is finite; after time details fade, specifics are lost and sometimes one memory gets mixed up with another.
Memory deteriorates.
About fifteen years ago my dad developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, or CFS. My siblings and I all had different amounts of time with my dad before he got sick. I had ten years. My older sister had fifteen. My youngest brother had only one. I remember bits of life from when my dad was healthy, but as time passes my memories of life before CFS blur together into a vague recollection of how life used to be: of riding bikes and flying kites, of swimming in the pool and hearing my dad play the piano after we had all gone to bed.
Solo show
Harris Fine Arts Center, Brigham Young University
Our memory is finite; after time details fade, specifics are lost and sometimes one memory gets mixed up with another.
Memory deteriorates.
About fifteen years ago my dad developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, or CFS. My siblings and I all had different amounts of time with my dad before he got sick. I had ten years. My older sister had fifteen. My youngest brother had only one. I remember bits of life from when my dad was healthy, but as time passes my memories of life before CFS blur together into a vague recollection of how life used to be: of riding bikes and flying kites, of swimming in the pool and hearing my dad play the piano after we had all gone to bed.
