For most of my childhood, my family travelled frequently by car between California and Washington State. From this fundamental experience, I developed a habit of long daydreams;  mesmerized by the layout and geometry of highway farmland, I determined landmarks to divide the drive, formed highway scavenger hunts, and counted poles until their rhythm lulled me to sleep.  

As a young American in the West, I again spent much of my time within the metal frame of the car, observing the landscape—but I began to register the injustices imposed upon it: clear-cut forests, oil spills, and intrusive infrastructure—the spoils of corporate culture upon shared terrain.

Today, I find myself still dreaming and driving, but now I notice the natural resistance. Small families of trees and bushes nestle in reserves, at offramps, and between routes. Despite highways running through their habitat, these flora persist, sustaining and providing for an entire ecosystem. These resilient patches and the paths that cross them are the focus of this series. 

This body of work began with a gentle  “erasure” of any man-made features within the landscape as both a secret wish and a way to echo the manufacture of memory.  As this series develops, I am experimenting with compositions atop barely legible stream-of-consciousness prose, mirroring the pathways in which thoughts travel. I am further exploring one- and two-color monotypes made on an etching press under extremely high pressure. 

This evolving body of work considers how natural systems endure despite being bound within structures that seek to control or diminish them, while also reflecting on the instability of memory itself—how landscapes, like memories, are continuously reshaped, removed, and reinterpreted through exploration and rumination.