Old Sculptor

I have arrived at a point in my life where I am radically changing my day-to-day engagements.  I am not altogether sure of the process or the outcome other than what always drives humans, to find meaning.  Finding meaning, in my case, mostly means discovery, to engage in exploration, the meaning of wander and the skill and courage to make a trail into the unknown.  Art making and higher education are both ripe with the hope of discovery but age can lull one into the dull ease of habit.  My greatest issue is to find a way to of using an old body to still sculpt, managing to find ways to explore the wild, which always requires physical proficiency, with a body that is painfully aged.  That in and of itself is adventurous and requires great creative thinking and doing and, although at any age the body is an exquisite sculpture, I am finding making sculpture with mine much more challenging. 

Making sculpture 20 something years ago.  Oh
boy was it easier.  My first and best studio assistant, Preston
Saunders, in the hole, is helping me find the exact center of the footing using a plumb bob
on one of the coldest days in the history of Talladega AL.  My four year
old son Zac is taking the picture.