I’ve recognized my interest in furniture since early childhood. My grandmother collected antique furniture and artifacts, mostly from the Victorian era but, with a smattering of oriental and early American mixed in for good measure. The shapes contained within her collection were extraordinary. Many of the pieces possessed not a single straight line. Chair legs bent as if they were baring weight. Table legs all had feet. Picture frames rippled with hyacinths leaves and hidden faces. There was a formality to her setting that was as acute as the anthropomorphic aspects of the pieces occupying them. I thought that it was all wonderful and incredibly unique. As a figurative sculptor, I think that it’s only natural to have interest in furniture as it relates most immediately to the human form and it’s ergonomic demands. Beyond that, I find the eclecticism of my interests finding their way into the aesthetics of my furniture. So much of it lies somewhere between Macy’s Thanksgiving day Parade and Antonio Guadi’s tiled dragon shapes, a place between metallic machination and the pliant, playfulness of flesh. In much of this I was driven to create sculpture that could justify it’s existence and the square feet that it would occupy by serving the simple purpose of being able to sit in it. I’m sure that much of these desires date back to the combinant exposure of my grandmothers collection and my childhood memories of climbing and lounging on Joan Miro’s Moon Bird at the MOMA and the Alice In Wonderland bronze by the Central Park Zoo.