Dreams, passions, disappointments, sex, and hopes of encountering the second chance have all been translated into my bronze sculpture. They are disguised as dancers. Most dancers thrive on passion, sex, and the anxiety of needing a second chance. So do I, even though when it comes I am often slumbering in escape from my fears.
I awakened to the beauty and depth of bronze during a visit to my aging and declining mother in Chicago. On a downtown errand for her I wandered into a gallery. After living in Los Angeles for some fifteen years, I was astonished that anything in the Windy City held sufficient power to shove me into a hot room of new creative challenge. Perspiration dripped as I felt a new hunger and simultaneously mapped out a plan to satisfy it. The creation of a bronze work is laced with heat and fire: the pouring of the quietly burning molten metal, the welding of the individual parts, and finally the blowtorch necessary to reveal the final patina. Ecstasy. Yet two things came close to forcing my retreat. One was the expense of the bronze casting foundry. Thousands. Most difficult I faced the issue of sharing control of my work with the artisans who worked at the foundry. Miraculously I stepped over these blocks. Very unlike me, the artist, a bronze is indestructible unless melted down.