Visual Arts

2020 Artwork featured in SWGA Art Show at Firehouse Gallery, Bainbridge, GA

2018 Solo Exhibition: Alchemy of Gold at Studio 209, Thomasville, GA

2018 Artwork featured in Hulu series The First,  New Orleans, LA
—— Painting: before the lightning took the oakmoss drippingthe house where i grew up; the branches where i grew up

2018 Artwork featured by Leo Burnett Company, New Orleans, LA
—— Painting:  apple to temple ; the branches where i grew up

2017 Artwork featured in cover of Hobart Park Annual Literary Review
—— Paintings: three sistersapple to temple (previously titled Ithaca)

2017 Audience Choice Award and Honorable Mention, Davidson College Annual Student Art Exhibition
—— Judged by popular vote and Endia Beal, respectively
—— Painting: before the lightning took the oak

Performance Arts

2015 Choreography selected for Southeast Regional Gala, American College Dance Association
—— Adjudicated by Bill Evans, James Sutton, and Edisa Weeks
—— Choreography: “Sweetened and Steeped”

2013-2017 Member of Gamut Dance Co., Davidson College

2017 Poetry featured at Annual Mid-Atlantic North Region Conference, American College Dance Association
—— Poetry: “when God created the animals”

Positions

2017-2018 Little Scholars, Art teacher – New Orleans, LA

2017 Talwar Gallery, Editorial Intern – New York, NY New York, NY

2013-2017 Van Every/Smith Galleries, Gallery Assistant – Davidson, NC



Artist Statement

There is intimacy in tin roofs and cotton sheets.  When I was little Great-grandma Weiss’s tin spoons got chewed up by the sink disposal and Mama cried.  Mama always complained about the rusting tin roof.  I can hear it in the rain and feel it in July.  Because now the tin roof will be there for someone else to re-silver.

I paint because the magnolia tree got eaten up by lightning, the oak was stripped and left the streetlamps naked.  Because without the moss I feel naked.  South Georgia is dripping, the oak limbs are dripping, and the memories are sweltering, rusting and rootless.  Breaking down into the same material they came from. The memories shimmer, quivering like inexhaustible creatures.  Snagged in grainy cell phone images, they dissolve into each other—this is the only place they will ever be seen again. Paint simplifies and re-stitches the fragments of my memories.  Gives them a body to inhabit.

There are colors in the violin wail and fiddle fumes—the red clay ditches where we played and someone else drowned.  Lying on the red carpet beneath the pews, Mama’s fingernails during church.  The out-of-tune piano in the red dining room bouncing off the humid, heat-warped windows.  There are only so many colors in the world, but so many worlds.  Gold—my teacher told me it meant wealth and I saw something else: my sister’s gold bracelet that greens my wrist.  Grandpa Fred’s gold watch, still beating.  The gold baby ring on my pinky from someone I never met.

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