They say you need a story. My standard line is that I don’t have a story. I have no trauma, ethnic distinction, regional affiliation, political stance, macho attitude, new media infatuation, need to explain or to rally to set me apart.

I use anonymous materials which in themselves carry little value or identity. Raffia, paper, charcoal, clay, thread. I manipulate these materials with processes that are as close to the simple hand as possible. Coiling, drawing, hand-building, sewing. But it is the idea of the work, the eventual outcome, that interests me most.

In looking back at my practice over 30-some years, I recognize some themes. Nature. Looking closely. Calm and order. Domestic life. Drawing. I adore Agnes Martin and Hans Coper but I couldn’t do what they do. I can’t leave anything alone. If I were to draw a line, it would soon be erased and scrubbed and redrawn and then covered with vines or words or more lines giving it support. I admire John Cage’s music but am transported and filled with life by Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony or almost any of the choral music of John Rutter, with all that thick harmony. I am practical (almost to a fault) but am moved to tears by acts of kindness and the first light of dawn on the horizon.

If being human is a story, then it is one I try to read and write every day.