is there a cosmic balance, demanding to be kept at all times? Is there a right for every wrong? A stupidity for every brilliance? A broken sculpture for every newly made one?
Motherartist/artistmother has been crushed. My colleage who overweighed the wall that shattered the piece is very sorry. I am very sorry too....
scream, collect the pieces, trashcan or memorial spot in atelier,think, fuck...fuck...fuck.
Just clay, plaster, wood, that`s all there is to it now. The form is out, the soul is out. It is through the form and the form alone that there is expression. Is the form the soul? I guess so.
"If motherartist/artistmother is dead"dear cosmic law, "what will happen to the real one now?"
making new ones taking into account the history of what was.
Looking into books and books of history of sculpture. Currently stuck in the gothic period and finding that a hard nut to crack. hard but somehow tasty. I miss the life that (mono)theism sucked out of the pieces in those times. Life that was so omnipresent in the previous periods, where sculptures dealt with more than mary and child, popes, saints and kings with queen. Still it intrigues me, because for everything that is visible there is an invisible. What was the invisible in those times, the secrets that crackeled the facades? The invisible is the imagined, the `what you make of it`, the field of creation. This field invites me continue along the path I am taking.
Armour, women, battle, vulnerability, strength, for ever, for never, for now:these are the keywords that guide my way. Giving form to sculptures lived and sculptures imagined.