I got my first real taste of performance in high school youth group—writing sketches, pulling together weird little comedy shows, and trying to make the emotional beats land. It lit something up in me that I later realized ran deeper than I thought. My mom’s side of the family had roots in vaudeville. Timing, storytelling, holding a room—maybe it was always in there.

Around the same time, I was drawing single-panel cartoons for the school newspaper. I was ripping off The Far Side while secretly wishing I was Calvin and Hobbes by way of Shel Silverstein. I didn’t know it then, but I was already chasing rhythm, tone, and connection. Same instincts, different paper.

After high school, I went all-in on faith. I studied at Frontier School of the Bible—a tiny, deeply conservative college in rural Wyoming—and somehow kept finding ways to perform. Preaching became a mix of writing, comedy, and storycraft: crafting messages that synced with the worship band, hoping it all landed as something meaningful.

That rhythm carried me from church internships in Utah and Florida to co-founding Isaac Improv, a Christian comedy troupe that toured the country, and eventually to serving as a minor pastor in a Bay Area megachurch.

After a decade in ministry, a long, slow crisis of faith caught up with me. I started questioning what I believed—and what the system I’d helped build was really doing.

After leaving ministry, I moved to Los Angeles with no real plan except to say yes to whatever came next. That turned out to be acting. I started booking commercials—eventually over 100 of them, including a few Super Bowl spots and a long run as the face of a Swedish soda. From there, I landed roles on The Office, Community, The Big Bang Theory, Shameless, and more.

I trained at UCB, Groundlings, and Second City, sharpened my comedic timing, and wrote and starred in Spell, an indie thriller shot in Iceland. I’ve done drama, sketch, improv, and the kind of deadpan button that lives in the last beat of a national ad.

Alongside all the acting, I kept making things—drawings, sculptures, tiny dioramas, weird lightboxes, carved wood, hand-lettered signs, and whatever else my hands could figure out. I started taking commissions and eventually opened a small studio. The real joy for me is seeing a fun idea all the way through.

My art lives somewhere between pop culture, comedy, and quiet obsession. It’s shown in galleries around LA, but more importantly, it’s hanging in hundreds of homes—each piece made to mean something to someone. I work in a lot of mediums, but it all comes from the same place: building something from scratch that didn’t exist before.