"Of what remains"  sticks still in my head..  Bones.  Artifacts.  Language.  The traces we leave behind, that speak of our existence, how we lived, what we found important.  Remnants.  Excerpts. What is collected, stored, put up and preserved? What is special to us? Empty your pockets...pile it onto the table, and start to really look at what you might bring home from a wandering afternoon.  Sea shells, rocks, nests, bones (of course), pods, feathers.  Kids always have these things...they are in tune with this sort of thing....

I know what it is....these things hold SOUL.  These things still have a VOICE that speaks, and we can still hear it. 

I am interested in the shape of things, and the closer these things are to natural forms, the more sculpturally intersting to me.  But there's another layer to it all...it's the more non-visual part...the part that the written word can get to with ease, but I cannot, at least not very often.  I can sculpt a ribcage...but how do I get to the concept of breath?  The inhale and the exhale, or the catching of the breath?  Each of the arts has an angle that it works. Sculpture has form...volume...density...but to be able to massage some sense of soulfulness into it, even a tiny bit, is a few-and-far-between acheivement. No wonder I have love for so few of my finished pieces.  The ones that have soul are evident. The others just stand there, wearing incomplete outfits.  

My many "finds" lay in my studio, artfully arranged, waiting...