We imagine history into existence every day. Shaping the world around us as we go. And I remake histories with every piece. From a motley crew of tales tall and true. A melange of myths, signs and symbols. Every one ripe for my kitsch confections, which could all be legends one day...

Every piece I create is true. Sourced from truth and grounded by it. But never real. Reality's a fiction we're all subscribed to, which doesn't make it any less true. And that's the thing about the truth. Or the past. It moves in both directions. Myriad, in fact. Never sitting still or doing as it's told. Forever questioned, dissected, reframed and upended. Queered and inverted. Packaged and performed. Told, retold, adapted then sold. Evolving, like everything else. Which is why I like to think my art exists outside of time. Reaching for infinity. Not reality. A kaleidoscope of mish-mashed truths, which are only as surreal as we choose to make them...‍