Posted by on Oct 4, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Arts | 0 comments

The French artist, Aristide Maillol, said “I express myself in sculpture because I am not a poet.”

She scowls at the weeping mound of clay before her as she inhales sharply. Her foot presses the pedal to the spinning wheel, setting it in motion. The artisan thrusts her long fingers into her medium.

Lifting, pulling, stretching the wet ball of clay into a new form that would serve her end goal is difficult at first. Finding her creative zone never comes easy. She prefers her results to be immediate, and on this day the game of manipulating clay quickly takes her over. Soon, she is moving as one with the spinning mass. She removes herself from the process.

While swiping at a wisp of hair with the back of her hand, she glances at the sketch she had pinned to the wall hours earlier. Her eyes move to scan it and then the clay, comparing size and shape. A smirk forms at the corner of her mouth as she removes the work in progress from the wheel’s bed and moves it to her workbench for closer scrutiny.

Suddenly she is lost again in the profound pleasure of slicing, pushing, pinching, removing and adding clay. No longer wrapped up in the result, she allows the clay a life of its own. No resistance. Pure creative presence. The sculpture moves through her and with her in a sacred dance.

 ~Tam Veilleux



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