Bliss

Sculpture is hard. Throwing is bliss. But they are both oh so good.

This was my epiphany last week. My hands screamed with pain at their abuse as I walked home to fall into bed at 3 am each night. Cuts marred their surface and my palms were roughened from the work I was doing. Physically battered, stiff and exhausted I came to know sculpture as hard.

That moment when you realize that you have moved beyond theory-yes it is difficult-to a real and actual knowing in your head, your heart and your entire aching body.

From beginning to end-the planning, the construction, the problem solving, presentation, rejection and acceptance-it is all hard. But maybe, I don't know, maybe this is what makes it worth doing. Maybe it is the loss of sleep, the blood and sweat that gives it its value. In the laborious working out of an idea, the object takes on meaning and worth and becomes sculpture. Maybe I'm wrong, but maybe this is truth.

The hard is good, but everyone needs bliss. Exhausted and battered, what is that one thing that you can go to for rest-where you can know it is going to be OK? It is good to place my weary hands on something that moves to mold to the form they intend. It is good to leave the loud, rough sounds of construction behind and find the peace of a wheel gently whirring. Sweet bliss. My soul whispers to my tired body. And all is good.