I grew up making fairy houses and casting spells in the backyard, convinced that if I placed things just right, said the right words, or moved the right way, my magic would work. My practice is spent chasing those feelings. I still hold that belief that intention and creation can shape some things. Now, my spells are cast through my sculptural practice. Joining the words I write and collect with the sculptures I create is one of the most vital parts of my process. I can’t help but feel that vulnerability is a kind of real-life magic, and I don’t exactly know how to harness it. Writing down the phrases, poems, and incantations I think of feels like a good first step. When you bare your soul, is it meant to be something palatable? Or meek? I don’t think I can do it that way. It almost always comes out in bunches of spikes, choppy words, and half formed sentences scribbled down.

My work often takes the form of a vessel. Whether it is home to a body, a seed, a shell, or a spell, to be a vessel is to hold something precious. To open is to risk loss or transformation, for better or worse, but to open is inevitable. Art making is a magical practice, a way of throwing yourself into something outside of your body and showing it to the world. Maybe that’s all a spell really is.