SkyTy (2017) is a site-specific solo performed at night in an open field. Seated behind a mound of baking flour, the performer slowly gathers the powder, rubbing it onto his skin before rising to throw large handfuls overhead, creating a momentary cloud onto which a live-processed, vertically inverted video feed of the same actions is projected in real time. The virtual image exists only as long as the material that receives it remains airborne — each throw producing and almost immediately dissolving its own screen. What emerges unexpectedly from this recursive loop of action, material, and image is a figural presence hovering above the performer — a ghostly double that reads simultaneously as reflection, apparition, and deity conjured in the performer's own image.

notwhatiusedtobe (2017) is a live performance and media installation created as a thesis project at Hollins University, performed at night in an outdoor garden site. A custom-built pool and fountain installation — its apparatus deliberately visible — supports three recorded video images of the performer projected onto falling water droplets and the reflective pool surface, creating a layered, unstable field of past and present selves into which the living figure gradually, physically immerses. Drawing on the Narcissus myth, the river metaphor of Heraclitus, and the Greek personifications of memory and forgetting, Mnemosyne and Lethe, the work moves through three sections: a comic, self-aware opening dialogue between live and recorded selves about change, identity, and the performer's complicity in Western artistic traditions; a darker passage structured around Echo — in which a commanding recorded self-image issues instructions whose digitally produced echoes progressively alter their meaning, while the live performer struggles to follow them literally; and a reflective passage, culminating with the living figure kneeling over his own prone projected image, disturbing the pool's surface with his hands, and pouring water over the image before exiting through the falling water into darkness.

Kitchen Pas de Deux sets two simultaneous instances of the same improvised movement sequence loose in a meticulously renovated domestic kitchen — a space that is at once intimately personal and aspirationally perfect. The figures move through, around, and occasionally into each other, their trajectories determined independently by a randomizing algorithm that sends each forward, backward, fast, or slow without coordination or predetermined outcome. The accompanying audio — phrases extracted and randomized from a 1950s General Electric promotional video for the modern electric kitchen — cycles through the room's implied promises of domestic perfection, convenience, and feminine labor with a deadpan irony that the moving figures quietly embody and resist.

Unsettler places three instances of the same figure on a North Carolina beach at sunset, each drifting gradually — through the indeterminacy of forward, backward, fast, and slow — toward the Atlantic shoreline, fading as it reaches the water and reappearing at the edge of the land to begin again. The movement is always tending toward the ocean — the same ocean from whose shores European settlers first came ashore in the "new world" — making the subtitle's imperative, usually directed at immigrants and people of color, into a gesture of inverted manifest destiny: loaded, futile, and necessary simultaneously.

In auto/mobile, two instances of the same figure move restlessly through the interior of a car — pressing against the windshield, spilling between front and back seats, occasionally breaching the vehicle's boundaries entirely — while the road beneath moves steadily, imperceptibly, in reverse. The car, that most American of emblems — freedom, power, speed, self-determination — is going backward while appearing to go forward, its mythology of progress quietly undermined by the direction of its own travel.

in two easy steps places two instances of a nude figure — seen always from behind, face never visible — on an endless road that travels through collaged landscapes: forest, desert, bridge, tunnel, star field, mathematical equations, planetary nebula, each pixelating into the next. One figure glows white, a luminous silhouette; the other shifts gradually between material fills — confetti, bubbles, clouds, disco ball — its nudity present but refracted, festive and unresolved. Both walk toward a vanishing point they will never reach, their movement controlled by an indeterminate algorithm that sends each forward, backward, fast, or slow, the road beneath them always extending further than any number of steps can cover.

be here now is an intermedial improvisational movement meditation on presence — physical, psychic, and virtual — and the relationships between these different modes of being and the present, past, and future. Presented in three episodes in an intimate studio space divided by floor-to-ceiling moveable panels, the work offers audiences a choice of perspective: each side of the divided room reveals a different aspect of the performance, partially occluded from the other, and audiences may cross between sides between episodes. At the center of the divided space, a large projection screen — capable of rotating on its vertical axis — shows a door repeatedly opening onto different scenes: live webcam feeds from randomly selected global locations, clouds, underwater, outer space, ghostly images of the performers themselves.

Chance/Choice is an intermedial performance event in three episodes that places the tension between randomness and agency — in art, in life, in the systems that govern both — at the center of its inquiry. The performance space is bisected by two large vertical projection screens and a physical door, through which the audience enters, forced by a table of instruction cards placed directly in front of it to choose — before the performance has officially begun — whether to go left or right. An electronically altered voice opens each episode with a sequence of algorithmically randomized statements that implicate the audience directly: "With your presence, you are implicated in the meaning of this event," "Your life is governed by chance, not choice," followed immediately by "Your life is governed by choice, not chance."

Contain Yourself is an intermedial improvisational performance event in three sections, presented in an intimate studio space shared by six performers and their audience. The work takes containment — literal, metaphorical, psychological, social — as its central proposition, asking what we hold, what holds us, and what happens when the container and the contained become indistinguishable. In the first section, performers move through the space with large translucent plastic bins — body parts disappearing inside them, figures emerging from them, transparent containers lowered over heads and torsos — while algorithmically randomized video alternates between banal household activities of storage and ghostly processed images of the performers themselves. An algorithmically parsed spoken text accumulates: "Bottle the fluid thirst for fulfillment," "Encase indecision in the hardest shell of impenetrable avoidance," "Stow a cargo laden with loss, and longing," "Contain yourself."

The City: a project(ion) is a multimedia installation without live performers, emerging across seven oversized projection screens arranged throughout the studio space — each tilted ten degrees on every axis, set at different heights, and facing in different directions, so that no fixed viewing position can take in the whole. One screen requires lying beneath it; another demands an almost vertical upward gaze; another looks almost straight down. The audience stands, sits, reclines, or wanders, continuously reorienting their bodies to follow the work's distributed attention — navigating the installation as one navigates a city, which is to say: performing and producing the space simultaneously with moving through it.

Forces of Habit is a live performance and media event in three parts, presented in a large studio space transformed into an immersive site in which five performers, five large projection screens, and the audience share the floor. The work examines habit — its social function, its pathological potential, and its largely unexplored capacity for creative liberation — across three sections that move from the monumental to the manic to the quietly transformative. The first section, Good Habits Make Good Citizens, opens with performers constructing scaled models of civilization's monuments — Stonehenge, the pyramids, a church pulpit, a highway, a courtroom, a watchtower, a border wall — while a spoken text offers self-help advice about proper habit formation with a deadpan authority that barely conceals its ideological content.