I spent fifty+ years learning to build. Block by block, form by form, I constructed sculptures as biology constructs organisms—from simple units into ever-greater complexity, each piece an external system growing outward into space. I understood galaxies this way. Amebas. It was the architecture of thought itself. Everything I made was additive, accretive, and an assertion of presence. Then I retired, picked up a bowl gouge, and started removing wood instead of adding it. I told myself I was simply exploring, filling empty hours with a new skill. But standing at the lathe, watching curls of maple fall away to reveal the hollow within, I finally recognized what had been missing: I had spent my life building vessels that could hold nothing. Now, at an age when most artists are consolidating their legacy, I find myself obsessed with containment—with the negative space, the interior, the sacred silence that only exists when you have the courage to carve it out. But the urge to construct is strong in me, as you can see in the new work. The solution it seems is to blend them together. I will explore in that direction for now.
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