Bold colors and patterns were the fabric of my childhood. I first found them in the landscapes of farm life, school theater field trips, and then in the designs of Bob Mackie and Alexander McQueen. Weaving colors and patterns into costumes, to me, is magic. As a child, a beloved bedsheet became a Batman cape, and now I tailor tailcoats for grasshoppers on stage. 

That magic is not stumbled upon, but built collaboratively. Where it may be easy to romanticize collaboration, when done well, it is arduous work that requires openness, patience, practice, and knowing when to step back. Where others approach rigorous making with ruthlessness and narrow-mindedness, I instead approach it with discernment and kindness. I know that the stakes are high: the garments I make carry in their seams the weight of the designer’s vision, the performer’s comfort, the audience’s delight, and my reputation. But I pay just as much attention to the process as I do to the finished product. The journey of making is as sacred to me as the garment itself. Revision becomes my compass, reflection my fuel, and threads from trusted feedback strengthen me.

I embrace that there are many pathways to costume magic. They bend, open into unexpected directions, and sometimes they circle back. I welcome all the possibilities, even when it’s hard or exhausting. My practice lives in these moments: I pay attention to the performer's body language that may indicate confidence or discomfort. I navigate the delicate dance between staying true to a 2D research image or rendering and the demands of a 4D garment on a real person. Ultimately, my goal is to honor the wisdom and patience of those who have guided me, carrying their lessons forward in my actions, my teaching, and the awe I create through costume.