In the darkness when grief gently taps me on the shoulder…in the early morning when the sunrise fills me with hope….when music plays and causes my soul to dance. It is at these times that I stop thinking in words and my mind is filled with images. The strongest of these images will keep returning to me and nagging me until I discover how it might become manifest in clay.

I plan the piece in my head and make many sketches, but I don’t touch the clay until I can feel what I want. When I’m clear about what that is, I pick up my rolling pin and start working the clay into a slab. I tear away large swaths only to add them back again as I keep rolling. When the slab has taken on a certain energy, I begin constructing. As I stretch and compress the clay, it is as though it has come to life. The surface of the slab becomes the very human-like surface of the sculpture.  After much wrestling, the clay and I come to an agreement. I don’t work traditionally because I want preserve the spontaneity of form that encourages the unexpected. With clay slabs, the unexpected is my constant companion.