I have been carving stone for more than 25 years.
At the time I studied art-therapy which focused on painting which frustrated me at times and it did not happen just once that I scratched through the paper down to the board it was stuck to or drowned the paper in black paint with rebellious frustration.
Two weeks of stonecarving were enough to have me completely hooked.
It was the real stuff to me, it was physical enough, demanding all of me, no more frustration but a gentle way of working forms of fancy into this ancient material.
Stone, from then on grew to be a trusty companion.
From carving free and aimless to wanting to work like a mason, familiarising myself with quarries and their history, letter carving into stone…
To the time when I wanted to penetrate the solid rock with my thoughts and respect of its ancientness, looking for a worthwhile reason to touch this friend with a chisel and for some years to be honest I could find no reason at all.
With this the exploration of other materials started.
Light…the slow regular rhythm of the sun, as it touches everything. I observed and tried to find forms that the light and shadow would generate but as far as I could make out, the forms need to be there in the first place in order to create projections and shadows.
Sound…I had no idea how much of it is around us, always, there is no time without sound. As soon as I started listening, I could not stop it and still, it is a blessing and a curse to have woken up to sound with an attention that up until then I had reserved to music.
Drawings to sound differ to those made to my observations of light.
Movement and Form bubbles out of sounds.
By now stone had turned into an tired relationship that I was not sure I wanted to visit again.
I found many excuses to not pick up a chisel again.
Is it now a month ago that we are in lockdown?
I can’t work in my studio anymore, time to rethink many things.
From one day to another I lost all my paid work, like so many people facing uncertainty.
I see the current privilege of my situation and I struggle with it, knowing I can spend time to indulge in my creativity more than I was able to do so for many years.
So much desperate sadness and pain, poverty and death all around us, the world is changing forever and please let it be for better.
I have picked up my chisels again to let myself fall and get lost, hoping my reason is worthy to touch this material with its ancient memory.
I have respect for you and that’s why I am unsure if what I am exploring by hitting and shaping you is ok.
The only reason I can make out is to work with this memory of yours.
I imagine sound during your formative years, watery sounds floating and slushing you about before you settled in the state I find you in today.
How has sound moved you?