My journey into the world of sandblasting began in a place of industry, not art. In 1989, at the age of 23, I was working at a glass tempering facility as a spandrel painter. Part of the job involved sandblasting—mostly utilitarian work like prepping basketball backboards. But somewhere between the machinery and the layers of paint and grit, I had a realization: this technique could be used to create something beautiful.
Back then, I genuinely thought I had discovered something new. I didn’t know of anyone using sandblasting as a form of artistic expression, and to me, it was like uncovering a secret hiding in plain sight. What started as a technical task quickly became a creative obsession. I began to see glass not just as a surface, but as a canvas—something that could hold memory, movement, and meaning. By happenstance, I met noted glass artist Melissa Paxton in 1998, who became my mentor as I helped manage the business end of her studio.
Over the years, I’ve continued to explore and evolve my relationship with this medium. My work reflects a deep appreciation for the tension between fragility and force, permanence and impermanence. Sandblasting, to me, is more than just technique—it’s transformation.