Bold in its presence, grounded and stable, physically imposing as the patriarch should be.

*But also rather complex, and sometimes it doesn't work

**private collection in Fullerton, or wherever it got recycled during my stay in grad school!

A mash up of alley found parts, relays, switches, motors and yards of wiring, Jellyfish Radar actually works as intended; a major break through in my kinetic journey.

I learned a lot building this piece, and found the unraveling of my initial designs into the final product a struggle at times, but ultimately the materials let me know what's up.

An ancient idea, remade using found parts.

Even the hand was "found" during a work day at the foundry. No, I didn't sculpt it, Kent Ullberg did, but that's besides the point, it's mine now and it shakes your hand as you stare at your face. If you repeat the mantra, "may you come to realize the universe within you" while turning the wheel, hopefully you'll feel something deep.

Hand operated pump moves used motor oil from the can up the hoses and passes it through the hourglass. It's only a matter of time. 

*private collection in Santa Monica

 The ties of family become circular in time, binding us in a constantly unfolding complexity 

My first sculpture. A big pocket watch. 

*In the private collection of my good friend Donald Fodness

I once watched from my window at the foundry a bird sitting on the fence outside. The bird seemed unconcerned it was an early monday morning, and the rest of the week loomed forever ahead of us. Then it occurred to me, birds don't care what day it is, but I was caught in the knowledge and had nowhere to go.

It seemed profound then.

An uncontrollable explosion of paint exits the red hoses when the foot pedal is depressed. Inspired by the complex geometry of seeds magnified and the incredible power of life they contain

It just keeps getting weirder. Black closed cell foam found on the inside of car bumpers is the base of this piece, with the grey foam from under the pleather cover of a Korean electric heated massage table forming the outside of the circle. Then using waxed twine I tied an "N" scale train on a section of conveyor belt, which moves around and around on some wheels imbedded in the foam.

Let me start over. It all started with the idea of building a train in a bottle, like a ship only a train. And maybe it could go back and forth between two bottles?

But the train didn't really fit and this is what happened instead. A series of bottles, and a cool circuit board I built that can record sounds and play them back-a train whistle of course.

A 12 foot print of built up ink reliefs from the impressions of 5 different hand guns. Kind of an obvious idea, a shroud like image, a coffin shaped work made from guns, what better use.

Every sci-fi movie I've ever seen went into this sculpture, in addition to a lot pneumatic struggling, electronic hazardry, and found objects from all of the scrap metal dealers in the Valley and beyond. 

It sort of worked, it looked cool, and now all of the parts are being used again for more sculptures. I love that!

It's a portrait of a really great artist and a talented man, moved to mop in life. At least he know's what he wants and what makes him happy. No judgement here my friend.

My great-grandfather's scythe attached to a gearbox from a combine. The irony determined the outcome here, and ironically the scythe moves terribly.

Such a graceful tool in the right hands.

*private collection of whichever recycling yard it was taken to

Five cast iron gears is all that I have left of a massive 19th century wood planer I dragged around for years. The five cast iron gears that drove the automatic feeders of the planer are now wedded to five identical gears cast in glass. Both have their weaknesses, both have their strengths.

*private collection Redondo Beach, CA.

A collection of left over materials from other projects made their way here. At times it felt like a map, then a circuit board, then the inside of some strange sea creature's stomach.

“Ha-ha,” laughed Sissy. “Criminey. You wouldn’t believe it. It’s just a bunch of junk. Garbage can lids and old saucepans and lard tins and car fenders, all wired together way down in the middle of Siwash cave. Every now and then, this contraption moves- a bat will fly into it, a rock will fall on it, an updraft will catch it, a wire will rust through, or it’ll just move for no apparently logical reason- and one part of it will hit against another part. And it’ll go bonk or poing and that bonk or poing will echo throughout the caverns. It might go bonk or poing five times in a row. Then pause; then one more time. After that, it might be silent for a day or two, maybe a month. Then the clock’ll strike again, say twice. Following that there could be silence for an entire year- or just a minute or so.

Then, POING! so loud you nearly jump out of your skin. And that’s the way it goes. Striking freely, crazily, at odd intervals.”

-Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues