Evoking peace for unfinished business of the heart.

Some things don’t leave the body. Clay keeps bringing me back to them. My presence with the clay anchors those returning feelings into my art.

As a child, I was always checking if my environment was safe. One day I made mud cakes in what I thought was a bowl—it was a wheel hubcap from my father’s car. I was punished for being dirty.

Something in me closed to the earth after that. I learned to be careful, contained—frilly, even. But something playful stayed buried.

I came back to clay much later. Not to learn a skill, but to recover a way of being.

At the wheel, I was asked: What do you want your work to say? I could only answer by learning how to stay still long enough to center the clay.

Now, as I move around a piece, I follow what emerges—surfaces shift, faces appear, tension holds—while weaving in the natural rhythms of sacred Kauaʻi.

Each work carries a trace—inviting you to encounter what remains unresolved.