I have always been drawn to color and light and how they interact to create an overwhelming awareness of euphoric satisfaction. Both color and light have a way of expressing emotions in a nonverbal manner, influencing one's feelings. The prioritization of color and light is something I strive to achieve in my work.
Humans interact with gelatin on a daily basis: shampoos, candy, jams, beer, and breath mints. Growing up with a mother in the candy industry, I can still vividly see the lined metro shelves with buckets of orange Knox gelatin in my childhood kitchen.
Being a child raised by a single parent, my greatest fear is that something is going to happen to that parent. Moving away from home for college, using gelatin in my art was my way of staying connected to my mother. At first, it felt like I was reconnecting with my childhood, the more time I spent with the material, the more I thought about my life. Life is ephemeral, one day my mom will die, and I will die, and through my work, I am aiming at preserving what cannot be preserved. Just like gelatin, we are all slowly molding, till we dissolve and become nothing but a moment in time.
Just like a painter uses paint, through sculpture, I have been able to take gelatin, an abstract material, and use it as my art form. Gelatin is translucent and captures light and color in a unique way. And it cannot last forever. Mold grows, water evaporates, and the art is forever changing. I approach each piece I make as an experiment. I think “How can I push this material to do something it has never done before?” To utilize something other than its intended use. Maybe create a ladder, a frame, or a chair. I want the outsider to question how I was able to achieve the same feeling one gets from viewing Dan Flavin's fluorescent strip lighting art but in an imperfect way, with mold and fading colors, where the “final result” is never certain.