I envision the body as an enormous conglomerate of mechanical insects rushing towards you ready to explode into a million twitchy singing arthropods.  The insects melt into a pile of clear viscous goo that slides across the floor into a blob in the corner.  Then the blob starts telling you stories.  Oh you were mistaken, it isn’t a blob at all it’s a nymphomaniac valley girl, chomping on bubblegum and eye rolling.  Oh wait- maybe it is an old man chuckling about his glass eyes.  It’s so hard to tell because now you swear you are watching some sort of boot camp fitness instructor doing slow motion “samurai poses” underwater.  Oh wait it is a Samurai and it is in a… television commercial?  Now it’s just me floating... now I am falling into my own thoughts…. I am the swirling tentacles of a cuttlefish.  I am a crumpled piece of tinfoil. I am the rusty gears of a diesel truck.  I am the grains of sand in the hourglass. I am ice melting. I am stillness of the leaves after a breeze.  

I am a choreographer attempting to pin down that magical and ineffable sense of physical transformation…

I make dances to celebrate the blunderings of mankind.  I find beauty in the assembly line mechanism and the soap opera emotionalism of living.  My dances exaggerate life.  I have heroes destroying villains, secret portals into other worlds, and moments of frozen time.  There is a strong inclination towards magic and making an inner imagination concrete. I am always reaching towards absurd profundity.  Grandiose and miniscule.  The contradictory forces between a strong sense of logic and the breathless shivering quality of live performance.  The fall into the stream of conscious thought and the hope to never recover…