Artist Statement
Graphite does not forgive. Every mark is visible and permanent. The medium is a record of every decision.
I grew up between cities and divorced parents, settling in Savannah after my grandmother died when I was seven. I learned early what remains of a person after they are gone. That is why I draw.
At eleven, I tore the ligaments and fractured the growth plate of my dominant elbow — undetected for nearly a decade. Doctors told me I might not recover full use of the arm. I auditioned for the Savannah Arts Academy anyway.
Architecture at SCAD taught me that nothing placed without reason holds. UX taught me that the person looking at the work is part of it. A drawing has parameters the same way a structure does — medium, scale, mark density. Each one determines what the piece can hold. I graduated in 2022, eight years after I enrolled.
Most people treat graphite as practice. I don't. It is not a sketch medium, not a student medium, not a step toward something else. Expanding what it can do is the work.
I draw on cold press paper and wood panel. I am developing a paint where graphite is the pigment. I struggle with color not because I can't use it but because graphite is already complete — there is more range from white to near-black than most people give it. Moving into color feels like switching languages before I have said what I need to say in this one.
In 2024, a series of small botanical graphite studies received Third Place at Legacy in Bloom, a juried open call at The Beach Institute, Savannah. The show ran through January 2025.
I work with an arm that is sensitive to pressure, weather, and history. Each morning I assess what it will give me and begin from there.
I draw what is actually there. A person, an animal, a flower: each belongs to one moment. Graphite holds that. What I put down stays.
Based in Savannah, Georgia.