In childhood I had a dream about the pool that formed in the driveway after each rain. Peering over the edge of the rocky black asphalt, the mirror surface of the water was a passive boundary between my world and the one below. In my dream, the little pot-hole pool was a passageway to a watery underworld festooned in prehistoric ferns, layers of moss blankets encircling blooming anemones winking in the drifting currents. The layers, teaming with life spiraled down into darkness betraying the massive depths below. Waking life blended into dreams in the garden. A long downhill path with hemerocallis of countless variety. On July mornings the dew drops could be sipped from the day’s open lilies. At the end of August, the scapes were long dry bones, easily loosed from the ground with a swift yank. Gather as many as you can, little sister walking behind holding a matching bundle of gray scapes. A little circle of wire fencing left an opening in the side. We formed the walls, bending scapes to weave in and out of the spokes of the fence making straight sides of a little shelter, more scapes to thatch a conical roof. My mother introduced me to manipulating clay from an early age. My first ceramics class was at Waubonsee when I was in elementary school. I made a series of masks that prompted my parents to further nurture my artistic ability.College was a mad dash to collect as many skills as I could with youthful disregard for certificates. Clothing construction and fabric manipulation was my first collegiate focus. Stephens College in Columbia, MO taught me to sew almost anything and gave me the fastidious skills of couture embroidery and beading. The skeleton of the ceramics studio at Stephens stood unused and out of bounds in the art building. It haunted me. It was time to pull my toes out of the fashion pool and plunge into art properly.I moved home to Illinois and started reacquainting myself with clay, while absorbing subjects in humanities, anthropology, and the history of art. Curiosity led me to the greenhouse where I found botany professor Robert Steinbach. An absolute catharsis unfolded as I peered into the microscope discovering the nuanced forms of plant structures and listened to Steinbach espouse the secret workings of the plants’ quiet lives. At North Central College, I studied sculpture and carved with a chainsaw in wood, chipped away at white plaster, cast my breasts in alginate, continued to sculpt in clay, and started emulating plant morphology in my two-dimensional work. I began theological studies with an examination of the evolution of the Abrahamic god. This led to a deep interest the hidden aspects of world religions. At Northern Illinois University, I developed drawing skills, learned how to throw on the wheel, expanded my printmaking repertoire, and delved deep into Byzantine art history.Life as I knew it ended at the unexpected death of my partner in the fall of 2017. I descended into melancholy for a seven-year period. When I had bouts of anxiety fueled energy, I created and it became documentation of my suffering through the loss. I became mentally ill in my grief. I gave my fate to the community. Surrendered to the carrying current. I came to the other side of giving up and began to build strength. For breadth of experience, I advise the public on the care and identification of perennial plants at a plant nursery during the spring and summer months. During the fall I transition to holiday decoration design. Experience has led to a compulsion to zoom in to the beauty of the microcosm and dissociate from the impressionistic chaos around it. Watching the plants at the nursery allows me the chance to observe the sequence of the changing forms throughout the growing season. My observations of plants directly inspire many of my sculptures