New Mexican Sculptor

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New Mexico, United States
I'm living in New Mexico where I sculpt and paint. After a long absence from art, I am now creating smaller bronze figures. This blog is mainly devoted to that work.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

New Horse January/ February

I see I have a few followers, and I want to acknowledge and say Hi! I know I am not the most prolific Blogger, but I am willing to accept any constructive criticism you want to try on me. I am hoping to finish a new sculpture every 45 days. Hopefully more than one. I have been doing several recently, another horse, a young woman, and 2 goats (just started).

I am not clear why I chose to sculpt goats. I like them and think they are charming and beautiful animals. I think there is a struggling vegetarian inside of me who wants to depict the almost taboo subject of "animal feelings."

I’m just finishing up on this sculpture. The big forms have been blocked out and now I am working on surface details. What I particularly feel is working is the feeling of weight. A thousand pounds of muscle being lifted up and coming down under the complete and sensitive control of a "prey animal." I must admit: i like horses. No city has ever been built without the muscle of horses. Perhaps Brasilia, built in the 60's.

These are a few views of the sculpture in clay. I was going to call this sculpture "Hard to Catch," but was told that the horse does not seem very "playful." "Turned Out" is another prospective title. I did some major editing of the expression and muscles, and feel happier with it now. Getting a few days off work (unimpeded full days in which to work) seems sometimes hard to me. You know how it is, you get the day off and spend most of it running errands or doing laundry. Well, that is this artist too. Artists have cars and dirty socks and houses and everything anyone else has.

Having two dogs that need to be taken to the dog park does not help me any either.

Thoughts at the beginning of 2011

I've been on again, off again with art. The relationship has had its various incarnations. I feel my main conflict are the "friends" who have undermined me by talking me into "getting a real job" or studying something that distracts me from art in order that I do not "fail" miserably at life. This might be their wish, but (now) it is not mine. I've taken the advice of others various times, and that advice has way-laid me, and often taken me on a journey far away from my art. As an artist, I always end up back at art. As I age though, I realize that I was not given an infinite life span. If I do not get these things done, I will never get them done.

I guess you've heard it put that "life is not a rehearsal." I never learned that like I did in September, last year when I got the call that my sister had been found dead on the floor of the kitchen of her house in Washington State. She was one year older than I was, the same age I am now. At 51 she had finally graduated from college, finally gotten a great job, finally started her life.

My sister was brilliant. talented, but unfortunate to be trapped in a situation of poverty and immobility. It was somewhat where I was as well. I was stuck in an underwater house, with more bills than I could pay. I walked out on those things, said to Hell with this-- my life is more than being a servant to material things.

I think that is how this all started. I decided that no one would ever see me as a cog in a machine again. I would not give another "manager" another chance to pass me over for a promotion. I would drop out, become a born again hippie, or whatever the current term for a free spirit is.

The last piece of the puzzle would be my beautiful, brilliant sister dying on the kitchen floor. I could see myself somehow, my journey ended before it had really begun, and I understood the ephemeral nature of life. It was that clear to me.

I had that quote by Nabokov: "Our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." -Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory, 1951. I knew this quote to contain the absolute truth. Our being is a supreme display of randomness. We will never be here again, and have never been since, so unique are we, and yet the people who trifle their lives away, wait for permission to act upon their dreams, are in the majority.