14 November 2013


Ianuaria, 2013. Cotton string and glue, pinned to black velvet in a shadowbox frame.

Succumbing to the throbbing pangs of what has come to be know as the annual CFEVA Fellowship application backache. Ouch.

Took a day off, mostly to walk long distances. Back to work tomorrow. I'm currently working on three-dimensionally illustrated escort ads for the upcoming erotica issue of Quarter Moon, released by the nice dudes at Locust Moon comics in University City. Some in-progress shots:


Can't even begin to deal with the fact that I'll be heading to Miami for Art Basel in a few weeks. That's a long ride.

29 October 2013


I'm truly honored to have been featured in an interview on Madalynne-dot-com. 

The frowning black sweater lady is yours truly.

What are you going to be for Halloween? I was aiming for Steven Seagal, but my ponytail is too long to be convincing. Manservant Hecubus (r), perhaps?


23 October 2013

25 September 2013

The Mesmerist's Daughters

Inspired by a strange dream.

Next up: seahorse skeletons and a whole lot of rodents . . .

10 September 2013

Tiny Town

It appears that the time to mention this has arrived. I'll be displaying some prints at Red Hook on Fabric Row towards the end of the month. Come to the opening reception! I'm planning on baking lots of cupcakes, all of them vegan. Strange fillings will likely be present. Dates and times listed below:
The past few weeks have been eventful. Sara and Jason from 
offered me artist representation, which completely floored me. Receiving that news sent me through a spiral of emotions that I didn't know humans were capable of experiencing. I am eternally grateful/perplexed that they would consider supporting me in that sense.

I made this guy for Required Reading, Phantom Hand's latest show, at The Art Department in Fishtown:

Red Delicious, 2013. Mixed media.

SELECT Fair contacted me, and it looks like I'll be participating in their Miami event this December, at the Paradigm booth, which should be exciting. And hot. I only gained certainty regarding my ability to participate after consummating one essential task: I had to quit my job. December is insane if you work in retail, and taking the time off required for involvement in SELECT would dump a massive inconvenience on the heads of my coworkers. Sooo, I did a really crazy thing and I quit way, way in advance, so my there will be plenty of time to properly acclimate a new employee to the
 hellish, pre-holiday milieu. 

This whole thing hasn't really sunk in yet. Expect a panic-fraught delayed reaction in the near future.

30 June 2013


So this is happening. Looks pretty exciting. I might not be able to attend the opening because of work, as usual.

Many aspects of life are currently being overshadowed by my relocation to South Philly. Beyond that, those facets of this period have seemingly been engulfed by a ravenous torrent of self-loathing. Is it right to blame the humidity? I feel like I should only be allowed to blame myself, and for that I should be grateful. That assertion might not make a lot of sense...

Moving out of one home and into another takes a lot out of a person, as if I am in fact preparing to occupy another person. Which is ridiculous.

My hope is that I will be able to return to the level of productivity I was able to consistently uphold up until approximately one month ago - the forsaking of which has induced an overall feeling of absolute woe. At the moment, I'm working on this:

Ignore that thing in the background; I am currently constructing conjoined buck skulls out of stiffened, hand-crocheted lace, which will hopefully be mounted on an intricately cut plaque of sorts. 

I just need a place to do this in peace. Sorry to complain so much.

17 June 2013


May I Have Your Skin?
mixed media, 2013
{created for Phantom Hand's upcoming Small Talk exhibit, Philadelphia PA}

07 May 2013


I'm always fascinated by the habitats and workspaces occupied by my friends and acquaintances. You can learn a lot about a person by examining the spot where she hangs her hat. Embracing the fact that I'll be moving from Chinatown to South Philly has renewed my desire to luxuriate in some neutral scrutiny regarding my own living space, which happens to be in a very old, three-story house with blood-red floors. I've occupied this structure with a rotating batch of house-mates since 2009. A lot of things have happened; would all of these occurrences, even the events of the most negligible importance, have transpired had I decided to eat and sleep in a different building way back when I was a junior in college? Maybe. Or maybe this house is cursed. Or something. I will miss this place.

Here are some photos of my bedroom, which is also my studio. It was once packed to maximum capacity with art supplies, saws, miter boxes, boxes and boxes of fabric, half open bottles of caustic substances with adhesive properties, etc. After reaching a point of absolute and unbearable discomfort, the said items have since been moved downstairs to the living room.

19 April 2013

He Who Slumbers

I made a Little Nemo doll for the awesome folks over at Locust Moon Comics, who were kind enough to place me at #8 in the Locust Moon Top 40 towards the beginning of this month. I really like their shop and how involved they are with multiple projects; it's very inspiring and being mentioned on their blog was an honor. 

This version of Nemo deviates slightly from Winsor McCay's original renderings. In addition to being entombed in a lightly-altered cigar box (painting over pyrographed text is a doozy), he has pose-able joints and - albeit mighty delicate - fingers that can be positioned accordingly. Overall, Nemo's construction was a sedate, enjoyable task.

Also, under all of those clothes, he has a lumpy little butt.

12 April 2013

Luz Azul

Two new illustrations; one for the hell of it and another (respectively) for Phantom Hand's Last Meal exhibit at Jinxed, which opens on Saturday, April 20th.

For now, splitting my time between these illustrations and my crocheted apocryphal animal skeletons feels like it makes sense.