​How Free Can You be? is an imaginary revisiting of the coastal New England landscape where I grew up in the 60s and 70s. Luckily for me I lived adjacent to a tract of woods unimpeded by development, which meant I was free to run around and experience nature—jumping streams, swinging in high tree branches, staring at a snake waiting for it to move first, building forts with friends, playing in the ocean. I particularly loved going out in snowstorms to hear the magic sounds of icy crystals trickling through branches, the muffled crunch of footsteps sinking deeply. But there was also a sense of unease, in the layers of history spliced into the natural landscape: an old railroad bed, falling down field stone walls, storm wracked remains of summer cottages. Social upheavals coming through the news, the stories my parents told about what had happened to our ethnic groups, the threat of nuclear annihilation, followed me around on my adventures. The sculpture, with its exuberant figure made of lianas, a wave, seaweed and other plant forms all mixed up, sections of construction material, organic and industrial materials twined together: This is the metaphorical place I can see in retrospect, where freedom and uncertainty are entangled.