I am a sculptor who works in bronze. Well, …really my media is wax.
I work directly in wax, and a foundry casts my originals in bronze.
The work is representational, primarily consisting of garden imagery. My source materials are plants that I find in my yard—usually the weeds that thrive at the edges and fence lines. But lately, magnolia leaves have found their way into the work.
The foundry casts the waxes and sandblasts the bronzes, I then add color—acrylic paint, watercolor pencil (sealed with wax or a marine grade varnish), graphite powder, ...or maybe a skin of encaustic.
I usually present the work in wall dependent installations, though some of it sits on tabletop.
Lines and grids organize the arrangement—the man-made juxtaposed with the natural.
I'm looking at how we make sense of the world—the maps we draw, the theories we build to explain and predict. Man is an inveterate theorizer. We parse and construe, looking for (and finding) meaning. Some of the theories we've come up with are truly remarkable—elegant, explanatory, …and satisfying.
What intrigues me is what happens when our theories don’t quite match reality—when our carefully constructed narratives overlook the obvious, or produce startling errors, forcing a shift in our underlying assumptions. When we fall into the gap between our maps and the territory, what then?