Sometimes my art starts as simply as slapping clay on a rock. If things go well, it becomes an object that incorporates bronze in some way—a sculpture that casts a shadow on the earth. I am always hesitant to tell anyone that I am a bronze artist; they automatically think of bronze elk, busts, soldiers, kings. That’s not me. I use bronze because it flows. It is a beautiful, silky means of joining substrates, merging worlds of materials, or just merging worlds. I love its sheen, the way it behaves when it melts, the way it welcomes patina. I even love the way it smells. A photographer once told me that I had an issue with permanence. “Why else would you make things in bronze?” he insisted. Perhaps I do. Bronze doesn’t break. It survives history. It makes history. But it is our art that is permanent.

In 2019 my husband, Ron, and I built a foundry. This was, essentially, a blank check to turn any thought, noun, adjective, or verb into bronze. I form each piece from a lump of clay on a rock to a sculpted lump of clay on a rock, to a silicone mold, a wax model, ceramic shell, and finally, we pour the bronze. And that’s when the work begins, cutting, grinding, welding, and at last, the beautiful waters of patina.

Although, yes, I am one of those crazy backyard foundry fanatics, I’ve also been formally trained in metalsmithing by some of the masters of its world. My skillset ranges from small scale jewelry and lapidary work to large scale public art. I seem to have found my niche in medium scale work.

The Gallery on the following page is an overview of my work. It contains photography and an occasional painting. Photography is at the core of how I see the world—it informs my art, as well as my life. Painting is just fun and I claim no proficiency in that realm.