Having repeatedly asked for a Barbie doll—one of those heart thumping "must haves" for me as a little person—the Easter Bunny finally came through to end my suffering. Now this was not your typical Barbie…this was a knockoff—my first official knockoff—from our local G.L. Perry variety store. She was practically inflated. You could pinch her thigh and feel your finger through the Vaseline colored flesh. She was bald, but came with three wigs—and I loved her! I spent countless hours playing with her and her multiple personalities in her penthouse apartment on the fireplace hearth—constructing beds out of cigar boxes and walls out of reincarnated VHS tapes.

This is the nucleus of my work—creating a story—a space for my wig-enhanced self to explore and navigate; a vehicle for my collections of used, thrown out gems of households past, to process my modern Doris Day issues. During my childhood, there was a luxury in the innocence of imagination and the worlds I constructed. I could be a hotel maid midmorning and a beautician by bath time. Everything was attainable. My photographs allow me to bridge the terrain of childhood mismatched memories with the reality of leftover tuna noodle casserole. I like to try and make most of my photos mid sentence, mid moment…the moment after you leap, before you land. As if the character is telling you how to get somewhere, but you only hear the "…and then you want to take a…" part. You don't know how it began or where it's going, but you can imagine.

Each series are entries into my visual journal—documenting a shuttered emotion in time. There is no umbrella term or explanation for my art—just that I believe I want to create something more than endless trips to Wal-Mart because I forgot the eggs. I would like to think if I had that two story Barbie Dream House, I would have had the same imagination, but who knows?  Maybe, I would have turned out to be an accountant instead…in a wig of course!