A wise friend once explained to me that the experience of art was far more important to being an artist than knowing the language of art. And although I may not be as familiar with terminology as other artists, I have experienced much in a thirty-year career as a self-taught woodworker: I observed widely, paid attention to details, and learned from everyone.

My first exposure to studio woodworking was in the late 1960's when I viewed work being done by students at the Philadelphia College of Art in the fledgling wood program. I was still an engineering student at Virginia Tech, but was amazed at and envious of the freedom evident in the work of those students.

By 1973 I had had enough of being an engineer and made the decision to follow my passion and work with my heart, my head, and my hands. A visit to the Wharton Esherick Museum confirmed that decision and taught me that furniture should be fun.

I do not feel bound by the confines of the straight line or by any of the other conventions of classical furniture design. In fact, many walks in the woods have taught me that a straight line and a flat plane are not natural occurrences but are man-made devices created to provide a sense of simplicity and order for our lives. I believe that furniture, perhaps even more than the structures in which we place it, is such an intimate part of our lives that it needs to manifest the natural and playful world of which we are a part. I attempt to do just that in each piece that I create. Like a walk in the woods, I stray from the straight line and the sharp corner. And like trees that provide raw material and much of the inspiration for my work, my furniture begs to be touched. I attempt to instill a sense of playfulness in each piece, all the while being conscious of the fact that it must function as intended. If my work raises the spirit and brings a smile to the face, then I have been successful.