Thesaurus at, 2025
Antlers, basket, T-square
31 x 52 x 40.5 in
Thesaurus at explores the spontaneity of randomness, chance, and the latent vitality embedded in objects typically regarded as static or decorative. A pair of antlers—often mounted and fixed in place, a T-square—an instrument of precision lying dormant until activated, and a shallow, indeterminate basket—whose function is unclear but suggestive—are recontextualized to reveal their potential for movement, interaction, and unexpected meaning. The piece invites viewers to reconsider the stillness we assign to objects and the possibilities that emerge when they are allowed to behave otherwise.
Antlers, basket, T-square
31 x 52 x 40.5 in
Thesaurus at explores the spontaneity of randomness, chance, and the latent vitality embedded in objects typically regarded as static or decorative. A pair of antlers—often mounted and fixed in place, a T-square—an instrument of precision lying dormant until activated, and a shallow, indeterminate basket—whose function is unclear but suggestive—are recontextualized to reveal their potential for movement, interaction, and unexpected meaning. The piece invites viewers to reconsider the stillness we assign to objects and the possibilities that emerge when they are allowed to behave otherwise.
Cleat, 2025
Cans, rocks
6 x 9 x 4 in
Cleat orchestrates a quiet friction between the natural and the manufactured, the known and the unreadable. The aluminum cans, stripped of branding, hover in a space of abstraction—not quite product, not quite form. Without logos or labels, they lose their place in the commercial imaginary and become shape, surface, presence. The rocks—steady, indifferent—press against the neutrality of the cans, grounding them, challenging their balance. Nothing here serves a clear function. The elements rest in relation, not in purpose. In removing context, one may consider not what a can is, but what remains when recognition is deferred. Cleat is not a sculpture about transformation but about hesitation—about holding an object still long enough that it starts to become something else. Without language or branding to anchor meaning, the cans enter a state of drift. They are artifacts from a system paused, open to interpretation, and emptied of directive.
Cans, rocks
6 x 9 x 4 in
Cleat orchestrates a quiet friction between the natural and the manufactured, the known and the unreadable. The aluminum cans, stripped of branding, hover in a space of abstraction—not quite product, not quite form. Without logos or labels, they lose their place in the commercial imaginary and become shape, surface, presence. The rocks—steady, indifferent—press against the neutrality of the cans, grounding them, challenging their balance. Nothing here serves a clear function. The elements rest in relation, not in purpose. In removing context, one may consider not what a can is, but what remains when recognition is deferred. Cleat is not a sculpture about transformation but about hesitation—about holding an object still long enough that it starts to become something else. Without language or branding to anchor meaning, the cans enter a state of drift. They are artifacts from a system paused, open to interpretation, and emptied of directive.
Ninety nine percent, 2025
Pedestal, basketball hoop
22.75 x 23.5 x 47 in
Ninety nine percent repositions the aesthetics of sport as a site of ritualized longing and suspended agency. Combining a pedestal and a basketball hoop—objects that suggest both reverence and futility—the work stages a tension between aspiration and inevitability. The title references the near-miss, the almost-win, the statistical edge that never quite materializes. Here, the act of watching sports becomes a metaphor for the shedding of self: to spectate is to momentarily dissolve one’s individual narrative into something collective, external, and largely out of one's control. Ninety nine percent captures that collapse, where identification replaces autonomy, and the desire to witness transcendence overrides the need to act. The hoop—unreachable, impractical, absurd—becomes a monument to the beautiful failure of trying. What remains is a structure that refuses resolution: a game with no ball, a player with no score, a gesture that loops without closure. In its stillness, Ninety nine percent asks whether spectatorship is a form of worship—or simply a way to vanish.
Pedestal, basketball hoop
22.75 x 23.5 x 47 in
Ninety nine percent repositions the aesthetics of sport as a site of ritualized longing and suspended agency. Combining a pedestal and a basketball hoop—objects that suggest both reverence and futility—the work stages a tension between aspiration and inevitability. The title references the near-miss, the almost-win, the statistical edge that never quite materializes. Here, the act of watching sports becomes a metaphor for the shedding of self: to spectate is to momentarily dissolve one’s individual narrative into something collective, external, and largely out of one's control. Ninety nine percent captures that collapse, where identification replaces autonomy, and the desire to witness transcendence overrides the need to act. The hoop—unreachable, impractical, absurd—becomes a monument to the beautiful failure of trying. What remains is a structure that refuses resolution: a game with no ball, a player with no score, a gesture that loops without closure. In its stillness, Ninety nine percent asks whether spectatorship is a form of worship—or simply a way to vanish.
Noun, 2025
Disassembled light fixture, duct tape, bag
10.25 x 7.5 x 34 in
In Noun, a disassembled light fixture is bound and reoriented with duct tape, ending not in illumination, but in a limp brown bag printed with the phrase “Great Day.” The work interrogates the idea of fixed meaning: the noun as a stable signifier, the object as something knowable. Instead, the fixture is stripped of function, and the bag—mass-produced optimism—hangs like a punchline or a prayer. The placement of the bag suggests a failure of resolution, or perhaps a refusal of it. A light meant to reveal is darkened; a phrase meant to uplift becomes absurd, even sinister, in context. The work lingers in contradiction: cheerfulness forced onto ruin, purpose unraveled by its own materials. This piece holds language and object at a distance, asking what remains when you say “thing” and mean everything—or nothing at all.
Disassembled light fixture, duct tape, bag
10.25 x 7.5 x 34 in
In Noun, a disassembled light fixture is bound and reoriented with duct tape, ending not in illumination, but in a limp brown bag printed with the phrase “Great Day.” The work interrogates the idea of fixed meaning: the noun as a stable signifier, the object as something knowable. Instead, the fixture is stripped of function, and the bag—mass-produced optimism—hangs like a punchline or a prayer. The placement of the bag suggests a failure of resolution, or perhaps a refusal of it. A light meant to reveal is darkened; a phrase meant to uplift becomes absurd, even sinister, in context. The work lingers in contradiction: cheerfulness forced onto ruin, purpose unraveled by its own materials. This piece holds language and object at a distance, asking what remains when you say “thing” and mean everything—or nothing at all.
Lushlocklean, 2025
Bicycle pedal, pipe, scaffolding clamp
10 x 4 x 7 in
Lushlocklean assembles a bicycle pedal, a pipe, and a scaffolding clamp into a compact, enigmatic form that blurs the line between utility and abstraction. The work repositions these industrial components—each designed for movement, support, or connection—into a configuration that invites contemplation. By isolating and recontextualizing these elements, Lushlocklean prompts viewers to consider how function and form can be reimagined through subtle shifts in context and composition
Bicycle pedal, pipe, scaffolding clamp
10 x 4 x 7 in
Lushlocklean assembles a bicycle pedal, a pipe, and a scaffolding clamp into a compact, enigmatic form that blurs the line between utility and abstraction. The work repositions these industrial components—each designed for movement, support, or connection—into a configuration that invites contemplation. By isolating and recontextualizing these elements, Lushlocklean prompts viewers to consider how function and form can be reimagined through subtle shifts in context and composition
Darn, 2025
Plaster
19 x 5 in
Plaster
19 x 5 in
Description of a door, 2025
Blue tape, paper
30 x 35 in
“Walls are a nice invention, but if there were no holes in them there would be no way to get in or out–they would be mausoleums or tombs. The problem is that if you make holes in the walls, anything and anyone can get in and out (cows, visitors, dust, rats, noise).”
— Bruno Latour
Someone had marked what looked like two hole punches in the wall of the fifth-floor stairwell at the Parsons 25 East Fifth building. I initially just took a photo of the found punches and left it alone but I returned and added another punch.
The following day, the Parsons maintenance staff had covered the holes with blue tape. I responded by punching another hole just below the tape and covering it myself. When I came back again, I discovered that the tape had been replaced by a sheet of cardboard screwed into the wall. The cardboard was cut into my favorite shape. It was amazing. I printed out letter-sized images documenting the intervention and taped them next to the newly covered wall. Then I measured the cardboard, printed a photo of the three original punches (the two I found and the one I added), and attached the image directly to the cardboard using its screws. That night, I removed the photos. The next morning, the wall was plastered over.
When I presented this for thesis critique, my professor—Catherine Telford Keogh, Director of the Parsons BFA Program—inferred that this piece poses ethical concerns. I damaged school property and intervened with the maintenance faculty who had to repair the wall. One of my peers said that it felt “icky” to consider this art because I essentially forced the people who work in the building to participate without consent; that this was an unwilling collaboration.
After a private meeting with Catherine, I was contacted by the Director of Student Conduct and Community Standards and asked to attend a hearing for my case on March 5, 2025. The hearing went very well. I recorded and fully transcribed it. I was told to expect a fine within two weeks.
Instead, on April 22, 2025, I received an email from the Director requesting a 650–700 word “Educational Paper” reflecting on the incident, due by May 6, 2025. With support from confidential sources, I wrote and submitted the paper. I received a warm response in return.
Many of my classmates found the piece funny—one even signed their name on the plaster. Though the wall has been repaired, the plastered section remains visibly distinct. So, this piece continues.
Blue tape, paper
30 x 35 in
“Walls are a nice invention, but if there were no holes in them there would be no way to get in or out–they would be mausoleums or tombs. The problem is that if you make holes in the walls, anything and anyone can get in and out (cows, visitors, dust, rats, noise).”
— Bruno Latour
Someone had marked what looked like two hole punches in the wall of the fifth-floor stairwell at the Parsons 25 East Fifth building. I initially just took a photo of the found punches and left it alone but I returned and added another punch.
The following day, the Parsons maintenance staff had covered the holes with blue tape. I responded by punching another hole just below the tape and covering it myself. When I came back again, I discovered that the tape had been replaced by a sheet of cardboard screwed into the wall. The cardboard was cut into my favorite shape. It was amazing. I printed out letter-sized images documenting the intervention and taped them next to the newly covered wall. Then I measured the cardboard, printed a photo of the three original punches (the two I found and the one I added), and attached the image directly to the cardboard using its screws. That night, I removed the photos. The next morning, the wall was plastered over.
When I presented this for thesis critique, my professor—Catherine Telford Keogh, Director of the Parsons BFA Program—inferred that this piece poses ethical concerns. I damaged school property and intervened with the maintenance faculty who had to repair the wall. One of my peers said that it felt “icky” to consider this art because I essentially forced the people who work in the building to participate without consent; that this was an unwilling collaboration.
After a private meeting with Catherine, I was contacted by the Director of Student Conduct and Community Standards and asked to attend a hearing for my case on March 5, 2025. The hearing went very well. I recorded and fully transcribed it. I was told to expect a fine within two weeks.
Instead, on April 22, 2025, I received an email from the Director requesting a 650–700 word “Educational Paper” reflecting on the incident, due by May 6, 2025. With support from confidential sources, I wrote and submitted the paper. I received a warm response in return.
Many of my classmates found the piece funny—one even signed their name on the plaster. Though the wall has been repaired, the plastered section remains visibly distinct. So, this piece continues.
Le flâneur, 2025
Street sign, stroller
Dimensions variable
Street sign, stroller
Dimensions variable
Untitled (Critique on site specificity), 2023
Basketball, sock, mop handle, toothpick, humidifier disc stack, cans, skateboard trucks, wood frame stand, broom, ping pong balls, steel rod, penny, container cap, orange, container
Dimensions variable
Basketball, sock, mop handle, toothpick, humidifier disc stack, cans, skateboard trucks, wood frame stand, broom, ping pong balls, steel rod, penny, container cap, orange, container
Dimensions variable
Ecce Pulvis, 2025
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
Ecce Mica, 2025
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
Ecce Amet, 2025
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
Photo-etch
15 x 11 in
