I want to belong to self and I want to belong to other people.

How does the group thrive? How do we attend to all of us?

I try to better understand--in order to reconfigure, subvert, or topple—accepted and repressive systems, ranging from the design of a street to the systemic oppression found throughout society. For protection, I survive as a trickster, a shape-shifter. I use deliberate, coded language, recognizable to various communities in my audience as they experience and decipher messages through whichever specific “perspective-glasses” they are wearing. For sanity, I often focus on the building blocks of my neighborhood. To date, I have changed the trajectory of a street, shoveled snow off over fifty miles of my neighbors’ sidewalks, created gathering places both complex and simple wherein insulated Mormon leaders mingle with the disenfranchised, and written musicals roasting important artists who themselves lambast the art establishment.

I create from a place of empathic overload using theatrical performances and installations that are meant to act as a catalyst for conversations that challenge the status quo. The environments and events I generate borrow meaning from the complex and sometimes conflicting origin stories of my respective lineages, namely: DIY, Feminist, and Mormon. I work to ignite action by fostering connection between disparate people and communities, and stimulating self-reflection in welcoming atmospheres with an energized mode of seeing that often results in laughter, tears, and a common humility.

The monoliths of despair and complacency loom over my town's community like immovable mountains. How can Mormons ever budge when a people see the will of God as unmoving and permanent as the rock peaks that frame them in their valley? Me, never quite a part of this desert landscape.

I can’t rest unless I act.