“Now you’re back where you belong.” Those are the words of my figure drawing instructor after I returned to art school after a brief hiatus. In her class I would regularly get lost in the creative process. Lost to the point where three hours pass in what feels like ten minutes. Really lost.
Throughout my life—from engineering, to education research, to teaching mathematics, to education administration—I’ve entered and participated in many entirely different communities. They are so varied, though, that I sometimes feel like I don’t really belong in any of them; except in art. Art is the one pursuit that has remained constant for me throughout my adult life. It is the one place where I feel most like I belong, and I feel most like I belong when I am entirely lost in it.
To me, being lost in art is seeing things with new eyes—looking for what is not obvious and pushing myself to create what has not been created before. I’ve come to appreciate novelty as much as I appreciate any particular aesthetic.
My ideas are born in three dimensions. I never sketch ideas for sculptures because it limits me to familiar images. I am much more creative in the round than in two dimensions. The process I use is akin to found object sculpture—finding things and putting them together in some interesting way. The only difference is that I make my own objects rather than finding them. These objects are forms and shapes made from sculpting wax. The process begins with glossy sheets of wax, which I break up, assemble, disassemble, drip wax on, scratch, and otherwise abuse. Using a torch, a soldering iron, and other tools, I try to create individual forms that are interesting in their own right. Then, working from the resulting “bone pile” of these odd forms, I assemble my sculptures.
The resulting pieces vary greatly because they grow from the chance meetings of these various unrelated individual forms. Much of my work makes references to the human figure, while some is more abstract, referencing symbolic and totemic images. While working, I consciously avoid familiar references. If I create a form that looks or feels too familiar, I will break it or cut it in apart or otherwise alter it and use it in some way other than the obvious reference. If I find I can’t make a form unfamiliar, sometimes I drop it on the floor to change it in some unplanned fashion and then reassemble some or all of the pieces into a different form. This forces me to be more creative in resolving the “how do I make this part of something interesting” puzzle that my creative process is about.
Although my sculptures vary, they hold together as a body of work because of their happenstance character and their rough, natural textures. Natural looking and weather-worn textures are attractive to me because they add a freshness to the overall effect—a not overworked feel—while at the same time leaving the impression that the pieces have been around for a long while, perhaps affected by the wear and tear of time. In the end, I hope people enjoy my work. Because I have many other serious pursuits, and because working with bronze is very time intensive, I can’t create a lot of pieces. So each piece is dear to me, as I hope they will all be to you.