I'm a multidisciplinary artist working in light, sound, and textile sculpture, but always grappling with the same question: how does the body sense its environment, and how can art slow that sensing down and make it richer?

My light and sound installations use brainwave entrainment and specific rhythms, colors, and patterns, all built to synchronize the body's internal rhythms with those in the environment around it and ease visitors into a meditative state. One piece, LightFall, stretched a quarter mile end to end along the banks of the Ohio River and required visitors to walk silently through the woods for several minutes in order to access it. I've shown this work internationally and across the U.S., including at the Van Abbe Museum in the Netherlands and the Anchorage Museum in Alaska, where my light installation was accompanied by a multi-channel soundscape created with a local sound ecologist for a climate change symposium.

In my textile work, large-scale kinetic sculptures made from wet-felted wool move in response to their environment; they are built entirely by hand, fiber by fiber, from locally sourced, natural materials. My hope is that the slow, physical process of forming the pieces is palpable in the layered, subtly shifting but always balanced organic shapes of the finished work. 

This focus on the rhythms that connect art, artists, viewers, and the natural world didn't start as theory. It began to percolate during my two decades in the corporate design world, where I increasingly came to feel that meaningful design had to stir change on a level well beneath the surface. And it came to fruition at a particular point in my post-corporate life when I was desperately chasing a feeling I can only describe as… relief.  

While prototyping a light sculpture, my sound designer introduced a soundscape built around a low, steady frequency, one that, by instinct rather than conscious design, matched the Earth's own resonance nearly exactly. Almost immediately it was clear that we had stumbled onto something that we only later found out neuroscientists had documented: the brain's natural tendency to synchronize with the rhythms around it. That accident has become a practice that now informs everything I do. The more I make this work, the more I believe what traditional cultures have known for millennia and the modern world has mostly forgotten: we are calmer, more open, and more ourselves when we're in sync with the Earth.

I've spoken publicly about how art can bring people into rhythm with the Earth, including at CODA (Collaboration of Design + Art) Summit in San Jose in 2023 and at SEGD (Society for Experiential Graphic Design) in 2021.