Artwork
Writing an artist’s statement is kind of my nightmare, so I asked ChatGPT to take a crack at it. Here’s what the robots said:
I make small portraits and sculptures of imagined people — the kind you might pass on the street and wonder about later. Some have a name and a scrap of story: a kid writing fantasy late at night, a woman waiting for a husband who may not come back, a bartender hoping to be noticed.
I work small because it feels honest — quick, layered, and full of texture. The scale keeps things personal; you have to get close, like you’re leaning in to hear someone tell a secret.
The stories behind each piece are part memory, part invention. I’m interested in the quiet corners of ordinary life — the hopes, regrets, and strange little details that make people who they are.
Not bad, robots. Close enough. Whenever I put on headphones with loud music and sit down to make a piece of art, I never know who’s going to show up, but I’m always glad to meet them and hear their stories.
(LEFT) This is Bertram. He snores very loudly, watches too much cricket, and smells like olives, and he never forgets Phyllis' birthday. (RIGHT) This is Phyllis. She usually has lipstick on her teeth, loses her keys daily, and talks loudly on the phone, and she's loved Bertram since the day she met him. Let love rule.
This is Reginald Barclay. He spends more time in the air than he does on the ground. He doesn't understand why everyone else doesn't do the same, but he's glad they don't. He finds the world is not so scary up there. He considers the clouds his friends, and the wind his greatest love. He was married once, a long time ago, but that didn't end so well.
(LEFT) This is Alistair. His father died in the war when Alistair was 3. Alistair himself spent 28 years in the navy, and it left him hollow and frightened. (RIGHT) This is Edna, Alistair's mother. She raised Alistair on her own. To this day, she keeps him well fed, and sometimes helps him put on his lipstick when he's too shaky.
This is Margaret. She’s 26 years old and she has three children. It’s 1968, and her husband is in Vietnam. She sort of hopes he comes back. He’s not very nice to her, but she’s not very nice to him either. She briefly went to art school, but dropped out when she met her husband. Sometimes she makes drawings with her finger on the shower door, and then wipes them away.
This is Jeannie and Monty. Jeannie shuffles her feet when she walks and plays flute in their high school band. Monty plays a lot of video games and he's on the soccer team. He's good at the first one but not at the second one. They're pretty sure that Jeannie is pregnant. Eventually they'll find out that she's not, and they'll collapse into each other's arms in relief, and kiss.
(LEFT) This is Anthony. He's 17 years old and he lives in Brooklyn. He goes to high school and works at Coney Island selling popcorn. Late at night, he writes fantasy fiction about dragon-riding heroes, evil sorcerers and beautiful maidens in distress. He illustrates them in ballpoint pen. (RIGHT) This is David. He's Anthony's 10 year old cousin. David gets beat up at school a lot, and he idolizes his older cousin. Sometimes Anthony feels like David is the only one in the world who gets him.
(LEFT) This is Tanner. He likes to smoke in the rain. He has a tendency to take off his shirt in public. He usually smells like Michelob. (RIGHT) This is Jackie. She tends bar where Tanner hangs out a lot. She has for a long time. She wishes Tanner would notice her in that way. He doesn't.
This is Franz, or at least this is what Franz looked like in his dream last night. Franz lives alone and programs computers for a living. He’s good at it, but he thinks about many other things while he works. He thinks about colors and lights and loud throbbing music and sweat and skin. He makes plans in his head of someday going on a trip to somewhere exotic. Someday, he will, and he’ll never come back.
