Private Instructors

2013—2017 Dr. Ronald Francois

2005—2013 Mr. Don Robinson

2003—2004 Mr. Tim Adian

Private Instructors

2013—2017 Dr. Ronald Francois

2005—2013 Mr. Don Robinson

2003—2004 Mr. Tim Adian


Creative and Performing Arts Award (C&PA) | 2014 - 2016, Awarded for academic and creative excellence

Young Concert Artists Award | 2008 for Outstanding Performance, 2007 for Outstanding Chamber Trio


CSU Symphony Orchestra | 2013 - 2017 First violinist in CSU Symphony, as well as additional Sinfonia, Opera, and Chamber ensembles

Chamber Orchestra of the Springs | 2012 - 2013 Professional Violinist in professional chamber ensemble

Pikes Peak Philharmonic | 2009 - 2012 Associate Concertmaster

String Camp | 2008 - 2013, at First Presbyterian Church; Instructors: Mr. Don Robinson, Mr. David Davidson, Mr. Paul Jacobson

Aspen Ridge Worship Band | 2008 - 2011 Volunteer violinist during church services and events 

Rachel Barton Pine Master Class | November 2009

String Trio | 2007—2012 First Violinist, Rebekah Emery (second violinist), Klarissa Petti (cellist)




Since 2002, I have studied and played violin in solo, chamber, and orchestral ensembles. Violin performance is woven into the better part of my life; is is a part of who I am. As such, it is a integral influence and tool in my design work. It is an ongoing effort to integrate these two disciplines, to develop a cohesive design | performance practice that can be applied in interdisciplinary projects.


I am always seeking opportunities to collaborate in this way; please contact me if you have an artistic, scientific, engineering, philosophical, literary, etc. project that you would like to expand with sound.




Color-coded simplicity, spaced out fingers, patterns, high and low. Relationships; close, far, farther. 1 is 1, 2 is 2, 3 is 3, except when it’s 4. Rewire, rethink— 1 is 2, 2 is 3, 3 is 4, it’s close. Closer than you’d think. Farther than you know.

Stretch           Reach           Find

A right hold is uncomfortable. Stiff. Warm and melt it, foraging a grip.

Listen, feel. Replicate the mood. Feeling is only ever off the page– you won’t find it there, you can’t learn it there.  Feeling my way through it, learning wrongness as a touch, a pressure, an electric current/shock–not a sound. Eyes on the page, focus on the body. Trying to match an internal dialog. Replicating an outer conversation. Playing together, learning as a mirror.

Vibrate, wiggle, learning to dance with unsteady legs, limbs, digits. The mind is confident where the body isn’t. Raise the stand, arch backwards, tall. Don’t crouch in the anxiety, don’t bend under the pressure. Fingers listen, mind moves, the ear learns. Angles are awkward, body wrapping into corners, 90 degrees, around this hunk of wood.

Notes are separate, except when they aren’t. Forced pairings, uncomfortable dates, sat together but leaning away on this wooden bench. Slurred, saddled, stitched. Like making room for a new sibling. Having to share. Learning the distance of the bow, the span of one’s own arm. Never noticed it before. Understanding the impact of a nudge, a fraction. Prismatic lengths, each interval a different color. Frustration is a stranger, I meet it now and then.


Metaphors. Sound as a feeling. Practicing emotional outbursts, unpacking the nuance of each gesture. Understanding histories, the relevance of stories. Building the interchangeability of fingers, the hand becomes a team. Deft, wide movements, the breath of phrases, rooted, flowering out. Everything is a memory in the body; empty the mind, trust it.  You’ve found colors, now find the shades, the tints– the opalescent hues. Frustration is a passion towards perfection, it goads me on.

Dynamic. Everything alight. It all moves so fast, everything a blur. The details of it are foggy, but the panorama’s there. It’s breath-taking.


Undoing the details, unmaking myself.

Divorcing hand from fingers, wrist from arm, arm from shoulder, shoulder from trunk. Breaking down motions into steps; in, out, away. Learning their roles, separating so that gathered up, they don’t lose themselves.

Calculate. Each movement is math, spatial relationships, harmony. Count them. Listen for the ghost tones, finding translucency in once opaque concepts. There’s more. Clear the fog, everything’s simpler, yet so sharp it cuts. So much that was right is now wrong.

Re-grip, re-grip, re-grip. So loose you’ve lost yourself.  Get a grip, but don’t hold on. Let go of tension. Aim to be devoid of desperation. Embody. Where are your ligaments, your strain? Painful clarity.

What hurts?

Frustration is uncomprehending doubt, it doesn’t understand itself. Why is this happening? Whose body is this? I’m floating, disembodied, where have my feet gone? Heat rising, breath caught in my throat. I try to hold onto guiding cues, but they’re fragile, they slip away.

Steady. Calm. Sink into the cool earth. Find your roots.


In through the flurry. Out through the barrage. Quiet deep and smooth. Find peace in the storm, relief in the heat of the bright spotlights. It’s not about you. Bury yourself, your doubts. It’s about us, this moment in time, this fleeting perfume. Make it sweet.

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