Void #8, Latex, urethane, plaster, sand, 8.5”x5”x5.5”, 2011.

Void #9, Latex, urethane, plaster, graphite, 4”x5.5”x4”, 2011.

Void #16, Latex and urethane,4"x 3.75"x 3.25" , 2012.

Void# 18, Latex and urethane, 4.25"x 4.5"x 3.5" 2012.

Void# 24, Latex and urethane, 5.5"x 4.5"x 4.5", 2012.

Void# 25, Latex and urethane, 5"x 4.5"x 4", 2012.

Void# 27, Latex and urethane, 4.25"x 5"x 4.5", 2012.

Void# 28, Latex and urethane, 4.75"x 4.5"x 4", 2012.

Void #31, Latex and urethane, 4.5"x5"x5", 2013.

Void #32, Latex and urethane, 4.5"x5.25"x5", 2013.

Void #33, Latex and urethane, 5"x4.5"x4.5", 2013.

Void #34, Latex and urethane, 5.5"x4.75"x5", 2013.

Void #35, Latex and urethane, 5.25"x5"x5", 2013.

Void #36, Latex and urethane, 6.5"x5"x5.5", 2013.

Void #37, Latex and urethane, 7.5"x6"x5", 2014.

Geodes have been objects of wonderment for me since childhood.  I was obsessed with the idea that I could go out into the landscape and pick up a rock that might just be filled with a magical surprise.  

I continue to be fascinated with the notion that seemingly ordinary objects have the possibility of harboring something unexpected and beautiful.  I am also interested in the geode as a time capsule—over time, a cavity is slowly encroached upon by outside elements, creating a history from the inside out.  

I build my geodes around the void created by my exhaled breath.  When each piece is finished, there is no evidence of what may lay beneath its surface.  As I create the piece one layer at a time, each time covering up the layer that preceded it, I have no idea what will reveal itself once the geode is split open.