The Excessocene and Pancocina, in "Visions" 2025
The Excessocene and Pancocina, installed, 2025
The Excessocene, 2025
Pancocina, 2025
Pancocina, 2025
The Excessocene, 2025
The Excessocene, 2025
The Excessocene, 2025
I am a collector, not of coins, stamps, or the usual associations of the word, but rather a collector of stuff, or as I like to say: ‘junk.’ The designation ‘junk’ sometimes holds a pejorative and inaccurate representation of the objects we collect. To me, ‘junk’ simply describes the things we don’t need but hold onto for sentiment’s sake. Concert tickets, fortune cookie ‘fortunes,’ rocks, matchbooks, and postcards fill my shelves–once something has sat on my desk for a few days, I most likely won’t get rid of it.
I have created an amalgamation of stained, slip-cast porcelain objects that we consider “recyclables.” Much like the global landscape we have altered, The Excessocene is a bite-sized representation of a ‘waste-landscape.’ As a global society of producers and purchasers, we have constructed literal mountains of trash on the outskirts of our cities and islands of garbage in our oceans. In recreating this landscape, I hope to bring awareness to what we have done to our planet. Of course, we should all acknowledge the environmental consequences of our collective actions and complacency in the self-sabotage of our species. Still, this project stands as an invitation to ponder the power of human ingenuity and our interest in creating.
While permanent ceramic objects can be a step toward sustainability, making an “infinite” object does not remove the ‘temporary’ objects that already exist. Creating an object to critique the creation of ‘junk’ can hardly serve as an informed statement promoting sustainability or environmentalism. In fact, the ceramic ‘junk’ I create will exist much longer than the plastic ‘junk’ I replicate. Rather than degrade in sunlight, this representation of plastic will stay intact under the Earth and could eventually become a fossil. Can I critique production through production? Can I denounce consumption by making objects to be consumed?
Pancocina, 2025
In line with The Excessocene, Pancocina is inspired by an observation of overconsumption, particularly linked to my life. As I prepare to move out, I have been planning exactly how to move and transport my objects. Looking through the kitchen one day, distinguishing my cutlery from my roommates’, I was in shock at the number of spoons in the drawer, the number of Tupperware containers in the cupboard, and the number of pots and pans under the electric stove. I rarely ever use more than one pan at once, and my roommates and I rarely use the stove at the same time. Why do I have so many pans? Why do I have so many spoons?
Pancocina plays with the idea of function. Despite the inviting porcelain and enticing copper glaze, these skillets are far from functional. Over a fire or electric burner, these vessels would crack and crumble, and any acidic foods would pull out toxic traces of copper. The appearance of function aligns with my interest in material mimicry. Thematically, this faux functionality references the excess in my kitchen. The unusable skillets are the pots and pans I neglect to use.
These nonfunctional reflections of functional objects represent the overabundance of objects scattered across our planet today. We have reached a point where there are far too many objects to be used. Even with warehouses full of manufactured goods, “goods” continue to be manufactured. We make more ‘junk’ before we can sell all the ‘junk’ we have already produced. We buy more ‘junk’ even when we often have too much ‘junk.’
Anderson Animism, in "Field Notes" 2025
Anderson Animism, installed, 2025
Bair horn and Banana Hammock, installed, 2025
Humming Birdie and Throwing Hand 2, installed, 2025
Bair Horn, 2025
Anderson Animism, installed, 2025
Throwing hand 1, 2025
Throwing hand 1, installed, 2025
Anderson Animism, installed, 2025
Hisstension Cord, 2025
Humming Birdie, 2025
Banana Hammock, 2025
Anderson Animism, 2025
This project, Anderson Animism, reflects the experience of workshop participants through its exploration of technique and time constraints. Each work draws upon an inanimate object on the ranch campus. These objects have been animated to become subjects. Each was created in one sitting, using methods from and following the firing schedules of the summer workshops. These parameters, while limiting, opened the door to experimentation and play, embracing the motto “process over product.”
In a Dark Dark Room, BFA Exhibition II, 2025
In a Dark, Dark Room, 2025
Who's That in the Corner, 2025
*Click-Snap*, 2025
*Click-Snap*, 2025
*Click-Snap*, 2025
Bed Bug, 2025
Bed Bug, 2025
Bed Bug, 2025
In a Dark, Dark Room; 2025
Inspired by a collection of scary stories found in my second-grade class library, In a Dark, Dark Room draws upon my fear of the dark. I have always been an anxious person, and my deepest, silliest, most childish fears come alive at night. The quiet taps of branches on the window, the loud cracks and crashes of the ice machine, and shadows cast on the wall as light peeks through the blinds keep me up at night. As a twenty-two-year-old it embarrasses me to admit this fear, but as a child I found ways to make light of my fears— much like this installation pokes fun at what frightens me. To calm myself down I would make up songs mocking a creepy character from a movie or book.
Regardless of how easily scared I am, I have always had a fascination with the things that scare me the most. My mom would cover my eyes during horror movie commercials, but I couldn’t help but push her hand away, then lie awake all night.
In a Dark, Dark Room is meant to mirror the goofiness of the things that keep me awake. Outlandish movie-monsters won’t be hiding under my bed, the clank of the air conditioning is not a chainsaw-wielding-maniac, and the coat hanging on the wall is not a ghost—I know that— but in my dark, dark room, when everyone else has gone to sleep, I lie awake waiting for something to open the closet door, waiting for its two glowing eyes to appear, waiting for its yellow fangs to bare… I lay there horrified, until I remember, it’s only the dark.
Construction, in "Take Care" 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction, 2024
Construction engages with the confessional as a symbol of shame, fear, and introspection, exploring judgment's emotional weight and toll. Growing up in an immersive Catholic environment, I was required to participate in the sacrament of reconciliation and penance (confession) from the second to the twelfth grade. Confession felt less like a path to forgiveness and more like an invitation to feel shame, an invitation to expose my most shameful sins and secrets, not to an all-knowing deity, but to a human authority figure. In the fourth grade, a priest told me I was going to hell if I “kept all this up.” This installation reflects my unease and vulnerability when entering a confessional—a space tied to secrecy and imposed transparency.
As an industrial confessional, this installation critiques the constructed nature of religious expectations through my lens, inviting viewers to confront their own experiences with shame, judgment, and self-acceptance. Construction draws from my experience in confession and stories of my peers’ conversations in reconciliation. The concept behind Construction explores the process of deconstructing a devout Catholic upbringing while making sense of my queer identity.
Inspired by the testimonial works of Doris Salcedo, this installation incorporates industrial materials like wood and steel to create a physically and emotionally weighted environment. Construction is a testimony to the power of religious structures and their effects on my experience as a queer person. I invite you to examine your conscience and enter the confessional reverently. Reflect on what you have done wrong and deconstruct your confession. Why do you think you have done wrong? Who told you what is and is not wrong? Have you truly done wrong? What is wrong?