Aria

In opera, the aria is the moment a single voice breaks free of the story and simply sings: unhurried, expressive, given over to feeling. In Italian, aria also means air.

Both meanings live in this body of work. It is an ongoing exploration of how hard metal can be made to feel weightless, as if moving through air. I pull, stretch and fold the wax by hand until it holds a gesture: a ribbon mid-swirl, a fold of drapery, a line that seems to carry on after it has been cast.

Some forms look back to the girandole of the 17th and 18th centuries, its three drops recast in sinuous, whiplash curves. Others are asymmetrical and playful, made to be worn in pairs that don't quite match. Like a sung phrase, each holds something fleeting: the tension between beauty and balance, and the wistful impermanence of things that won't stay still.

New pieces join the series as the research continues.