Other People's Minds - Session 4
"Is there any person in the World who does not dream? Who does not contain within them Worlds unimagined?" -Neil Gaiman
My alarm clock asks me that everymorning because it's a pretentious timepiece stuck in the 80's.
Anyways, what are the laments of an artist worth? In today's modern world (or postmodern, I forget) it would seem that nearly every person you pass on the street has some secret identity they hide behind the veil of a mild mannered office worker.
Allthewhile they long to return to what they wish they could dedicate their life to.
Here is one such woman:
I am a sculptor.
Granted, I am a sculptor who has not sculpted for a couple of years now, but that's been more because of circumstance than lack of drive to do so, and I like to think that an artist on hiatus is still just as much of an artist as they were when practicing daily.
Working 8 hours/day, (plus commuting another 2 hours) doesn't leave much time in the day to be creative, especially in an art practice that requires so much physical energy: Unlike drawing or painting, sculpture demands your entire body in constant motion (unless you're working in miniature, and I do not).
The last life-sized piece I created was a monument commissioned by the city, and that was exactly ten years ago. It was unveiled in November of 2000, and I've not sculpted anything of great import since.
A bust of Camille Claudel graces one of my shelves (created in 2006) and I've dabbled in bits here and there, but I've not created anything of merit, nothing solid and soulful.
Today I heard a poem in which one of the lines said, "Go alone and wander through a strange city -- there are always statues around to talk to"...
I want to make those statues.
I want to create those three-dimensional beings who leap forth to whisper secrets to random passersby and those who take the time to connect with them.
My alarm clock asks me that everymorning because it's a pretentious timepiece stuck in the 80's.
Anyways, what are the laments of an artist worth? In today's modern world (or postmodern, I forget) it would seem that nearly every person you pass on the street has some secret identity they hide behind the veil of a mild mannered office worker.
Allthewhile they long to return to what they wish they could dedicate their life to.
Here is one such woman:
I am a sculptor.
Granted, I am a sculptor who has not sculpted for a couple of years now, but that's been more because of circumstance than lack of drive to do so, and I like to think that an artist on hiatus is still just as much of an artist as they were when practicing daily.
Working 8 hours/day, (plus commuting another 2 hours) doesn't leave much time in the day to be creative, especially in an art practice that requires so much physical energy: Unlike drawing or painting, sculpture demands your entire body in constant motion (unless you're working in miniature, and I do not).
The last life-sized piece I created was a monument commissioned by the city, and that was exactly ten years ago. It was unveiled in November of 2000, and I've not sculpted anything of great import since.
A bust of Camille Claudel graces one of my shelves (created in 2006) and I've dabbled in bits here and there, but I've not created anything of merit, nothing solid and soulful.
Today I heard a poem in which one of the lines said, "Go alone and wander through a strange city -- there are always statues around to talk to"...
I want to make those statues.
I want to create those three-dimensional beings who leap forth to whisper secrets to random passersby and those who take the time to connect with them.
