Look at the different versions of this household item, consider the erotic potential of something mundane; the transformation of a utilitarian object into a fetishized one. The curves of injection molded plastic have such a variety of surfaces and texture. Some are pebbled and topographic, others are smooth and have a glossy sheen. The envelopment, compression and infusion of this manufacturing process is sensuous in a way. Molding and casting is such a tactile process, the mechanics of it are easily personified and supplanted by the sexualized body. There are creases and pockets of different shapes and configurations. They look anatomical and somatic, like colorful swatches of paint dipped orifices. The parting line of the mold runs up and down cast plastic like the seams you can find along your perineum or the roof of your mouth. I like the idea of these images evoking an ambiguous kinship with anyone's body, that people might relate to it in different ways, and consider their own physicality and fascinations.


Perfect Odd Thing

This work comes from the kind of ultra male spaces that I have been photographing for years. Hardware stores, garages, second-hand electronics stores, the ubiquitous junk drawer. These places are especially fertile ground. The primary decision in making these compositions is determining the object’s ideal view. Which way should these objects point themselves? Should it be looked at from the front? From behind? In what direction should its extremities protrude? Does it matter which is the front or which is the back? These decisions allow the objects to be fully described, and to establish interesting resemblances and associations.

What color could complicate things? What kind of textures and surfaces could be in conversation with the subject? I consider what other objects I have, and how their interactions can create evocative combinations. How can I use space and light? These decisions emphasize and confuse the thing’s function and scale. The work is nourishing and debauched. The photographs transform these unexpected objects, their original use is obscured. They’re new. These things are freed from the confines of their original purpose and interpretation.



Molds are beautiful and tactile things; hunks of fleshy silicon rubber swaddled by plaster and steel. They hold the shape of anything submerged into it. The form is fixed into the negative space, ready to be filled. Molds exist for one purpose: to produce a cast. They’re tools. I was drawn to the molds that manufactured my father’s sculptures. They hold the form of burly men and beasts in states of agony and ecstasy. I love their detail and ambiguity, the compression and envelopment of the molding and casting process. Portrayed outside their context they’re obscure and enigmatic, vaguely erotic and oddly gendered. These devices started a sinuous study of one object to another.