There's always been an element of fantasy, for me, as a sculptor: I was walking down the street one winter's night about fifteen years ago, dressed in my old denim coat and leather mittens. For some reason, I paid attention to my shadow that night, which stretched as I walked away from the streetlight. My legs got longer and thinner, my head smaller, and my mittened hands became huge. The sight was comical and liberating: my shadow was clowning, and I needed to know that I could stretch and grow, at that constricted period of my life.

The next day, I made a funny guy like my shadow, from modeling clay. But the clay was soft, and he slumped. I leaned him up against the fishbowl, where he stood, perhaps stiffening at the sight of the golden water monster in his face. My funny guy was alive, in his own little world! Soon the little guy had companions, "Beech People," made from copper wire and carved beechwood. Just about this time, I found myself in new circumstances: out of the house, severed from my son, served with divorce papers. Thank the Lord for Super Sculpey! The stuff sculpts easily, hold detail beautifully, bakes hard, paints nicely. I made my own sculpting tools, from locust and walnut, and there in my 2nd flr apt, nursing my woundings, I made odd, distorted, plaintive figures, burnt them in the oven (by accident), and was comforted.

So sculpture--and Ann--brought me back to life. The posture of my fantasy figures improved, they took on brighter colors, and began to smile. Eventually, I fell to making faces, of exquisite expression, by wrinkling my face in a mirror and copying. Frig Freaks, I called them, hoping they would entertain other people as much as they entertained me, and make a million bucks in the process. Didn't happen, but the fantasy figures kept coming: Internuts, cyberspace loonies to accompany the "Information Age," and then Computer Geeks, to sell through the Geek Boutique, a razzle-dazzle website born from the mind of a Californian with dreams of gold. Another bust, turned out.

Weary from such ventures, I retreated artistically to the realms of Fairie, nostalgic for the world of Lord of the Rings, imbibed to the very dregs as a boy, quieted by the mossy woods and clear waters of the Cascades, and piqued by a curious book, Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries. From these influence (at least) emerged a new stream of creatures, such as Fairy Poet, Dreaming Fairie, and Root Circle. I took them all the way through molding and finishing, and got them into a gallery, where they sat, gathering dust.

Such episodes can lead one to philosophy, or a disgusted resolve to "throw in the towel," and I've been there, with sculpture, more than once! Yet darned if I don't head back into the studio again, once I've got my wind back. Maybe now with a more practical view: sculpt what people want, rather than what you like. If you're lucky, you can do both at the same time. Sounds like a fantasy, I know. But relationship is where the juice is, for any artist, and the authentic spark of understanding between client and sculptor can lead to the finest of creative opportunities, and that's where I want to be!