Like the body, my sculptures are vulnerable to time; they sweat, bleed, feed scratch, pump, break down, retain and transform. An amputated dining table regenerates around its copper gilded stumps. A bed frame cast entirely out of dust defiantly stands perspiring against the wall. Porcelain pillows peacefully glow with light on oil, as the viewer controls the incessant churning of the slip pump, a near death state when someone is waiting to see a missing relative before they pass on. Subjected to faint yet ceaseless erosion, all these works exhibit unexpected strength, perseverance, and resistance.