I was a senior in high school when the article “Blurring the Boundary Between Perception and Memory” was published in Scientific America and was assigned by my psychology teacher. As it broke down the ties between plausibility and memory, I began to wonder how many of my memories were true and how many of them just seemed likely. Ten years later, my work emphasizes the confrontation and collaboration of different aspects of the psyche. Through the forced interaction of dissonant imagery, I am building a personal visual language with which to express narratives derived from my own experiences and those of people around me. No person is defined by a single moment, nor does the practice of collage lend itself to telling a specific kind of story. My pieces can come from most anywhere—a story overheard in passing, a friend’s dad waxing poetic on Thanksgiving, my own fleeting thoughts—but in every case there is an attempt to reconcile life’s coinciding absurdities in the place where perception and reality blur.

Collage always serves as my way into the work. Sometimes the process ends there. Other times, revisions into the work—done by hand with paint and charcoal—further weave the threads of the outside world into the one I’m trying to build. Allowing what has already existed to be morphed by my hand directly reflects how we navigate life. The world exists in its honest physical state, but our Truth comes from thoughtful interpretation. Taking stylistic cues from George Condo and John Stezaker, my visual interpretation often reads surreal, filled characters that are simultaneously irrational and earnest. Their interactions, often vague, are meant to incite questions. Through titles, I leave subtle hints about the story I’m trying to tell, but just as perceived reality can be equal in importance to actuality, I believe a viewer’s perception is as true as my intent.