Toy Soldier

I didn’t grow up with combat — I grew up with stories. My family’s time in the military had passed by the time I was born, leaving behind tales told over dinner, medals tucked away in drawers, and quiet nods to a life I’d never see firsthand. My mother worked at the VA hospital, and through her I learned to listen — not just to what was said, but to what was carried.

Toy Soldier is built from memory, molded from reverence and reflection. I melted plastic army men — the kind sold by the bag, faceless and green — and reshaped them into the silhouette of a gun. A child’s plaything, twisted into a symbol of real violence. The figures melt into one another, losing form, becoming part of something larger — something heavier.

This piece lives in the space between admiration and critique. It honors the people I love — the ones who wore the uniform — while examining the machinery that made their stories necessary in the first place.