From my wild childhood,
from that ancient time when time was nothing more
than the rising and setting cycle
of the sun and the stars across the sky,
when each day was complete unto itself;
From that old world where one still left
the imprint of one’s own hands upon things
so that they might remain and endure—
striking rock against rock,
digging into the earth,
tearing up roots—
I have kept the primal joy
of raw materials,
so generously offered
by Nature.

I breathe in the wind with my great nose,
I run,
I gather:
earth,
leaves,
stones,
roots,
berries and shells,
the shriveled husks of insects
once alive.

I let the landscape imprint itself upon me:
The vast open spaces pass through me;
the narrow valleys encircle me
and cradle me.
Perhaps I crouch down
to pay attention to the very smallest things,
seemingly undifferentiated fragments,
compost in the making,
which slowly and inevitably
will return
to the earth,
but which, for me,
can become Treasures,
the starting points of a quest,
the sources of a Vision.

From my gleanings,
I draw the inspiration and the materials
that will become the flesh and blood of my works.

Communion with nature;
Gleaning;
The work of opposing tensions:
inner contradictions, failures,
the shortcomings measured against an imagined ideal self;
Movement: walking,
long highway journeys,
fertile ground for mental wandering,
for the unbridling of the imagination;
Visions;
The desire to bring forth;
There lie the ingredients
and the living cultures
from which creation grows.

Then
come the experiments—
often repeated attempts
to bring into physical, undeniable existence
a Vision.

This is the time of Play,
where, through the combination of these material-ingredients,
through an intimate knowledge of their subtle limits,
through their skillful and inventive manipulation,
I seek to bring forth a Form,
to call a Presence into being:
a Sculpture.

The joy of studio work,
where the hours dissolve.
Repeated experiments in which I introduce slight variations
into the process,
to discover the unique limits
of each material.

To comprehend matter,
to join with it in an intense physical encounter;
to knead it passionately, imprinting upon it a form,
or to caress it with my fingertips
and allow it to reveal itself
through improbable patterns.
The congruence of craftsmanship,
of a hand and a body in motion, in tension,
and of a material changing state,
from the pliable to the solid,
taking shape—
Poiesis—
the emergence into the world
of an entirely new being:
a work of art, perhaps.