In 2016 I wanted to make art that explored resiliency, specifically how resiliency is shaped by external forces of family and culture. I wanted to understand if and how resiliency could be lost where it was once present.

First, I drew and then sculpted very small dead birds, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand: dead, decaying, and stunned, often at the moment of crashing into windows or resiliently resisting that impact by righting themselves. I don’t draw recognizable birds because for me, birds are metaphors for navigating the ordinary and transcending the limitations of the ordinary. That’s probably the reason that I usually draw in graphite — after all, “ink is the cosmetic that ideas will wear when they go in public, graphite is their dirty truth.” Mine are birds that fly briefly with broken wings and missing tail feathers. They keep going until they can’t.