Mess, disorder, and chaos are integral in my work. I often feel like a circus performer or a chef who has practiced a routine so the steps are not recited but felt in the bones. I must start with mess, the unabashed disarray of material strewn about on the wheel, the page, and often on my skin and clothes. The mess serves to outline, to find whatever it is I’m making before I transition into disorder. Disorder is higher stakes than mess, as I then have something I must keep from reverting to mess. Disorder is days spent working, forgetting to eat because my thoughts are monopolized by my work. Disorder then turns to chaos. Chaos is perfection, deadlines, doubt. It’s then that the work is complete, I can step away. It is at this point my art is no longer its process, it stands alone. And like a child I can see myself in my work but ultimately that’s not important, it’s how my work can affect each individual, as a mirror, a window or a wall.