artist's statement

 

When I was half this height there was a children's bath soap1 that wore away to reveal a toy surprise inside. Sculpting stone, for me, is much the same process, and I am often just as surprised to discover what the stone reveals to me. The final form is a collaboration between the stone and me.

Sometimes I imagine I'm a child, two inches tall, and wonder whether this sculpture would be fun to climb in and upon.

The music I listen to while I carve affects the result.2

I imagine how art might look had it taken a different path from the 1920s–1930s, and I take off from there.

I almost died once. I have no memory of the accident, but it left me with heightened emotions. Sometimes, as I'm running my fingers over the surface of the stone, if I experience a strong emotional response, I know I'm onto something.

Leaving abstract work untitled allows me the fun of knowing what meaning a viewer finds without a title filtering their perception.3


1The soap was called Fuzzy Wuzzy and also grew "fur," which is a little bit disturbing to think back on.

2Lately a lot of Philip Glass, Maya Beiser, and Steve Reich.

3There's a story behind this. I was in a creative writing class in college where each student's work was duplicated and passed out to the rest of the class, which would discuss it during the next class. The author of the piece was not allowed to speak until after the discussion had ended. One day there was a lively discussion about all the deep philosophical meanings cleverly hidden in one student's writing. When it was finally the author's turn to speak, he explained that he didn't put any of that stuff in there, and that it was just about a fishing trip. Clearly, the creator of a work isn't the only one adding meaning to the finished piece.