My birth as a sculptor began with my retirement from a full career as a clinical psychologist. Only now do I see the parallels between the unfamiliar patient and the unformed stone: both cry out to shed an unloved exterior and become different, new, and beautiful.

Yet what can I do and what do I know? What is really inside? How can I tease out the possibilities? Attempting to exert my will on a person or stone is futile. There is no answer, no known direction, and no predictable outcome. I must collaborate, chip away, look for clues, and gently smooth the edges. In the beginning I peel off layers looking for angles, curves, points of diversion, and places to rest. Every path leads to another unknown.

Momentum picks up and the chaos begins to evolve into exciting forms. I shape, smooth, repeat, emphasize, and polish; the journey is frustrating, time consuming, boring, exciting, exhilarating, and fun. In the end we discover a new connection, and something to be loved. My subject moves out into the world, to be replaced by a new lost soul, another lost stone. My work is never done.