The Practice
One of my earliest memories is sitting in the grass with a dandelion gone to seed, gently tracing the delicate threads of its white crown with my fingertips.
I don't remember thinking it was beautiful.
I remember feeling that it was alive.
Not simply living, but somehow filled with a quiet mystery I couldn't yet explain. It was an ordinary thing that seemed to hold an extraordinary presence.
That feeling has never left me.
Years later, when I first pressed my hands into clay, I recognized it again.
Sculpture became a way of slowing down long enough to follow that same sense of wonder—to give form to moments that resist explanation yet somehow feel deeply familiar. Working in clay and bronze, I create sculptures for the moments when the ordinary world reveals itself to be extraordinary.
My work inhabits the threshold between the familiar and the mysterious, each piece beginning with the same quiet question:
What unseen presence inhabits this place?
I am less interested in illustrating stories than in creating space for them. Rather than offering answers, my sculptures invite contemplation. They ask us to pause, to notice, and to wonder whether the world is richer, more mysterious, and more deeply connected than we often remember.
The World is More Alive Than We Often Remember.
My formal training began in New York City, where I studied sculpture at the Art Students League under Rhoda Sherbell, whose guidance helped shape both my technical foundation and my lifelong devotion to the medium. In 2016, I was honored to participate in The Metropolitan Museum of Art's Copyist Program, sculpting Harriet Whitney Frishmuth's The Vine while working among the museum's permanent collection—an experience that deepened my understanding of form, observation, and the enduring dialogue between artists across generations.
Each sculpture begins in oil-based clay and evolves slowly through careful observation, intuition, and touch.
For me, sculpture is a quiet practice of attention.
My hope is that each finished piece offers the same invitation that first dandelion once offered me:
to linger a little longer, to look a little closer, and to rediscover the extraordinary presence waiting within the ordinary world.
I live and work in Charleston, South Carolina.
My sculptures do not ask us to look at nature.
They ask us to remember how to look with it.
Rhoda + Jenny
The Art Students League of New York, New York : Sculpture & Painting
The National Academy of Fine Art, New York : Sculpture & Drawing
The Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art, Philadelphia : Painting
Training