My first sculpture was inspired by two shadows on a wall. It was the beginning of a lifelong exploration of the relationship between seemingly unrelated forms and the connectivity or manifestation of the space between them; the juxtaposition of opposing forces creating another form altogether.
Creating that form is like solving a puzzle. But in order to do that, I first have to create the pieces to solve it. I may start with a sketch or an idea in my head, or start with a single form. I may even break apart an old maquette, change its orientation or combine it with another existing form, creating an entirely new “piece of the puzzle.”
I don’t so much title my sculpture as identify them. They are in fact created from simple geometric forms. If I title them something other than that, I take away the viewer’s opportunity to interpret the sculpture for themselves and it’s important to me to give them that. In a sense, they become a part of the sculptural experience.
An exhibition juror said one of my sculptures “is a powerful yet playful, gravity defying series of forms that can serve as pure abstraction or to symbolize how experiences can be teetering and fleeting from one moment to the next.” Someone else said “I think it's an exclamation mark that is unsure of itself.” Three very different ways of interpreting the same sculpture. Had I titled it “Falling From Grace” or something just as meaningless and arbitrary, they would not have been as free to use their imagination to interpret it for themselves.
For me, my sculptures create a sense of calm. I know a sculpture is finished when that feeling comes over me. I once noticed a young woman at an opening had been sitting in front of one of my sculptures for 20 minutes or so. When I went over to introduce myself, she said she loved how calm it made her feel. “It was like meditating.” Perfect, but if someone has a different reaction to my sculpture, that’s fine. That’s the way it’s supposed to work.