The story of my birth involves a motorcycle trip, a Hells Angel, a drug score, and my uncle seeing god at a rural midwestern Dutch-festival (this means you drive tractors down main street wearing wooden shoes). Much of my life was spent living in tight quarters with my mixed family of 10. My most extreme architectural situations included single wide and double wide trailers, a barn, a McMansion, a chicken coup, and a VW van. Each summer I escaped the action-packed adventures in Colorado to live and work with my Dad on the farm in Minnesota. My Dad decorated the interior and exterior of his rustic farm-house with actual motorcycles and oil-caked engine parts. The combination between rural folk and social outcast is where I found my appreciation for a clusterfunk art/junk aesthetic. One summer, my sister and I cleaned his “pigsty-sweet-pigsty”; buried beneath the layered rubble was a pastiche that included dead rodent carcasses, weapons, antique toys, crushed soda cans, the invisible woman, a Nazi war helmet, and other oddities. I quickly developed an internal world, and my active imagination found me constantly seeking expressive outlets.