I've always been interested in books. As a child I read voraciously and journaled furiously. I have journals dating back to the second grade. Mostly they are filled with angst and silly ramblings, but I love looking back on them. I've spent years looking for the perfect journal, one that would take the pen nicely and not bleed through. One that would not be lined. One that had paper with a sensuous texture. I don't know why it took me so long to decide to bind my own. I had worked with polymer clay for ten years before I took a book binding class on a whim. Once I realized I could connect my polymer art and my first love, there was no looking back.
I've used books as a doorway. I've opened covers to be transformed to a place of fiction or inner sanctuary. Many of the books I create evoke the imagery of a door or window. Where do they lead? The blank book structure allows the collector to answer that question herself, or enjoy the questions unanswered.
In addition to the doorway, a common theme is the decay of synthesized objects. I live in a city rich with rusty bits that find their way onto the covers of my books. In contrast, polymer clay is inert and unlikely to decay anytime soon. The impermanent object is nested in the permanence of polymer. When life gets really gloomy I have to remind myself which parts are the rusted bits, which parts are the polymer, and that there is always a doorway on the bookshelf.