With my piece, "Marionette", I am playing with the idea that there is room within our confines for expression and a dignified way to define ones own direction. The body is not complete. There is work to be done. I believe we can be our own puppeteers, orchestrate our own show if we learn how to pick our battles. Confrontation has it's place, and in it's place there is sometimes no other option, but most often it yields a fortification of the lines that confine us. Most people are uncomfortable when the status quo is upset, and many are downright belligerent about it. Many of our civil rights have been won through much effort by those who are deliberate and thoughtful and have learned that courtesy is a good tool, often while a heated battle rages by the less diplomatic to little effect. Freedom is never absolute, and a concept that is never permanently won. It is more an ideal that we strive for.

I think it is important to control what we can, and not allow our convictions to be compromised because we end up fighting everything, instead of what our actual battle should be about. If we want respect, we should do something respectable, and we should respect others when we are asking for change.

I've lived a sheltered life in that I have never actually seen a clown dog, but I do know they exist. I imagine my clown dog as faithful friend to the "tramp", or sorrowful variety of clown, as opposed to "Bubbles the Happy Clown".

While it is often said that a dog grows to resemble it's "master", I believe it is also true that dogs often compliment their human companion with traits that person is deficient in.

With this piece, I see the dog as a bemused partner to the baleful clown; Piglet to Eeyore. Two gloomy figures just don't go together well. One or the other of any good pair has to be a bit of an optimist, otherwise there is no one to push the door open in the morning to let the sun in.

Many of us involved in relationships take turns being the motivational speaker for the day, kicking our partner in the pants to smell the roses, but who wakes up beside the august clown and says, "Well, this looks like a pretty good day!"? Sometimes the painted frown is not just a one day thing. It is an every day thing, and the wearer needs another face, like that of a contented dog, a dog that finds pleasure in simple things, and with a wag of it's tail, rubs some of that joy onto those around it, if only just a bit or for only just a while.

Dogs don't do everything right. They can't type, or sew, or garden very well. They don't mow the lawn or fix the car, and many lack in their social graces, but they do some things much better than their human friends. They know when they've got a good thing, they show appreciation for life's simple pleasures, and they wake up on the right side of the bed, almost every day of the world.

Lest I get carried away on the virtues of dogs, I suppose it is appropriate to at least mention that there are dogs who are curmudgeons and cranks, and otherwise unpleasant to be around, but it is my humble opinion that dogs of poor disposition are generally the products of people of poor disposition. Angry people often make for angry dogs.

But such is our fortune, that sad people seem generally to have happy dogs, and that is a good thing. I think it helps those with a sorrowful disposition get through the day. I've often noticed that a very somber person who may seem to barely endure his fellow man, may have a vibrant and joyful relationship with his dog. I suppose it's that unconditional love that nobody does better than our canine friends.

It is probably a good bet that fish don't look at things exactly like I do, but at some point our world views must collide. I don't have to deal with gill parasites, and a fish doesn't get in trouble for mud on his boots. But an angler fish fishes for actual fish to eat, as do I, and he uses whatever tools he has to catch them, as do I. In creating "Angler Fish", I tried to share with the creation, the tools that a fisherman might have at his ready, to see if any advantage might appear to be gained over his fellow angler fish. Or would my amalgamated predator look completely incongruent and be laughed off by his peers.

Of course I let my angler take whatever direction it seemed to be headed regarding the use of the man-made gear, and I think the result is a fairly resoundingly stupid construction that would be utterly useless in any environment. But I liked the overall image. Angler fish already have little bobbing head lights, fake bait and buoyancy stabilizing, as well as a swift and agile trap-like mouth. I realized I can't really out-weird this fish. Nature has seen fit to do fine without my ideas. But I have been intrigued by fishing boats all my life, with all the rigging, the booms, the hoists, ropes and cables, and the little cabin, so I just couldn't help myself.

The fact that almost none of the equipment on a fishing boat makes much sense to a land-lubber like myself didn't discourage me, as I don't think that it would make much sense to a fish either. At the bottom of the ocean, where a fish can go and peruse at his leisure, there are untold millions of tons of man-made objects for virtually any function imaginable; A veritable smorgasbord of wealth available for free right there in a fish's easy reach. If a man could be a fish, even for a few weeks, he could acquire wealth beyond anything he could do on land. But in a fish's world gold is a rock, the finest sunken vessel with all the latest everything is just a place to hide, or to look for something that is hiding. And with all that human wealth at their very fin tips, they are still better off just going about their business being a fish.

I think what I am pointing to is the fact that we humans are masters at nothing if not complexity. We are so far removed from a simple life that we begin to resemble my Angler Fish. With all the bells and whistles of modernity we keep creeping away from what worked so well to get us here. Maybe mother nature was right. Maybe we should slow down and take a look at ourselves. Take a look around to see what makes us tick. Perhaps as a species we get more interesting, while maybe we are getting less useful. I know that different people have different ideals, but a meaningful life is something to not lose sight of. The things and the people we love are not always the things and people that we have attached ourselves to.

I don't really want to go back to starving to death in a dark cave every winter. Just once would be unpleasant, but it seems we accelerate our complex environment ever more each generation, and to what end? None, of course. We know not where we are heading, nor if it is a better place, but we have the gear.

Archaeologists are always digging up things that they decide "need to be reconstructed" in order that us common dolts can appreciate the find. I am usually disappointed by these reconstructions, and wish privately (until now) that they would just leave things in the condition that they found them, so that we can imagine for ourselves what it is that they discovered, and enjoy how time and circumstances have affected the artifact in question.

Of course anything that defies explanation as to its' purpose falls immediately into the category of "ceremonial item". I expect many of these items are actually parts of watermelon peelers, (or perhaps parts to horse sculptures). I think Hippos Opus is my way of getting even with future archaeologists for ruining my museum experience. The pile of parts I cast to make this piece in no way resemble a horse, and should this piece be crushed into its' component parts through the passage of time, I believe, and hope, that it will befuddle any attempts at reconstruction. It almost befuddled me, and it was my idea.

So I hope I have created an image that people can enjoy today, and in the process, created a headache for future archaeologists. I like to think that in some way I have contributed to a long line of unidentifiable items "probably used for ceremonial purposes".

The strength, beauty, and endurance of the horse have inspired artists for millennia, but at times I have marveled even more at the agreeable disposition of this creature.

Among the various "beasts" of the world, some are accommodating of other animals' purposes and some are not. The horse has been particularly accommodating to the purposes of man. I don't know if horses are indifferent, if they just like the company, or if there is some subtle symbiotic relationship going on. Maybe a horse just doesn't know what they can do about being used by others, but it is definitely entertaining to contemplate this dynamic.

Human beings are no strangers to accommodating other animals, and are themselves used, if not abused by some creatures. The cat comes to mind, as nobody gets a days work out of a cat over it's entire life, but we choose to put up with being used because we are somehow soothed by the animal's total immersion in it's own comfort.

For it's many efforts the horse has been a beloved and often well cared for creature, but it has also been abused as a vehicle of labor and war, and a companion through many of the most horrific chapters in our long history together. While man seems to be capable of finding satisfaction by way of glory, I'm not sure the horse contemplates the victories and accomplishments shared with man as his or her own. A horse can clearly express a feeling of companionship with it's rider, but I think that in matters of war, a sense of survival might be the more common inspiration as opposed to that of glory.

Is the proud bearing of the horse a reflection of it's journey, it's accomplishments, or is the horse just born and bred to have a noble carriage? Whatever the case, in my piece, "The Curious Order of Things", I am exercising my imagination as to these interspecies relationships. The horse, always the trooper, keeps on under any and all hardship toward it's own threadbare condition serving others, while the birds sit plumply upon it's back as if this is the way things should be. It seems appropriate to me in this piece that a few plump birds might best represent us humans in that we have probably taken better than we have given. Often, throughout our past, whatever cobbling together the horse might receive has been done in the spirit of protecting one's investment. And while it may be that the human being is capable of the most altruistic of acts when it so chooses, (as is the current trend among horse lovers) this goodwill has come on the shoulders of a very long history of us more often looking out for number one, while in many cases, the well being of the horse be damned. In this marriage, between horse and man, we have "married up".

Though I wouldn't have it otherwise, why has this most excellent creature, the horse, been such a stalwart companion of man? Why aren't they more like a hippopotamus or a moose, either of which would just as soon kill us as look at us? Things aren't always the way they could be, or should be, but they are always the way they are. I guess this is just the "curious order of things".

In the design stage of any of my pieces is a period of pondering about the meaning of the form. Sometimes I don't really understand it myself. Art is a visual language and words are not always up to the task of describing the work. In this piece, "Mending", I feel that the words I come up with are particularly inadequate.

The concepts I juggled in this piece are several. First I wanted the form to be youthful, in that she is finding her way. Some of the structure of her being is the product of her environment. Her home, her community, her culture and it's heritage are crafting certain of her parameters and some of her support is lent from that beginning. These are the ties that bind us.

Second, I wanted the form to convey that their are imperfections and flaws in the process of finding an adulthood. The materials themselves may not be perfect, in that she, like most any human being, may be burdened by inherited "flaws". The process of growing up and choosing a path may be imperfect, and in that process some injuries or wounds may leave scars. Some scars show, some are well concealed. Some disappear with time, and some grow more pronounced. These are the things we work around.

Third, I want the piece to suggest that the "mending" of the self is part of the making of the person. The repairs necessary to survive the rigors of reaching adulthood are often in the hands of the individual. Choices made are going to leave their own marks. These are the ways we move forward.

Lastly, if I am to sum it up succinctly, I want the piece to convey the idea that no matter the damage sustained in the process of choosing a path, there can be grace and dignity in the self one has made. Flaws can become character, and scars can become spice. Some of the most impactful people have had a very many obstacles in their way to becoming the person we revere, and it is likely that with an easier path, they may not have developed the characteristics for which we most value them. The ways we handle the things thrown down in our paths are what make us who we are.

Most everyone is familiar with the saying, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth", and I think most everyone has a sense of what it means. But the phrase gets intriguing upon closer examination.

First, what is a "gift horse"? It is so seldom an actual horse, that we can dismiss the animal outright as anything but allegory. In practice, it must mean something like, "beware, the gift", or "just be glad you got a gift". But what kind of individual would give someone a gift that they know to be of unsatisfactory quality without telling the recipient in advance of it's deficiencies? Is that a common practice in our society? Why should we not look to see if the "gift horse" is dangerous or worthless or otherwise unfit for use? Is it disrespectful to examine a gift for it's quality? Wouldn't the giver of a fine gift like you to spend some time looking over the workmanship or beauty of the thing? Are we such deceitful beings that we should just expect that a gift is an act of treachery?

Like giving your 5 year old nephew a puppy or pet chimpanzee for christmas to get even with his father for nailing you into a wooden box when you were seven years old, perhaps such silent aggression is commonplace. I have heard that sometimes poor college students will wrap up boxes of their household garbage in leftover gift wrap, because they are too cheap or poor to pay for garbage service, and then leave the "gifts" unattended in their unlocked car at the mall. As far as I am concerned, the "recipients" of those gifts deserve them, but I don't think many of us give gifts of malice, or select a gift so cavalierly as to not tolerate their inspection by it's intended reciever.

In my sculpting of "Gift Horse", I examine some of these questions. The physical soundness of the horse is clearly cobbled together at every joint. Like Don Quixote, his countenance is proud, regardless of his soundness. He may very well have some quality worthy of his pride. The boxes may hold valuable surprises. You just don't know. Of course almost any time I make an animal it is most likely to be cobbled together. That is maybe just the best I can do. My house, my fences, my vehicles are cobbled together. So are my kids! Well, that isn't right, but the point is that sometimes things that are cobbled together work just fine, and do represent quality. If you don't have a horse and you need a horse, and someone gives you a horse, I say go ahead and look in it's mouth. Appreciate that the horse was free, but don't risk busting out it's last tooth feeding it apricots because you haven't checked it's teeth.

It's hard to let a pet go. We try to keep them topside as long as we can. It's just natural to hang on. But sometimes the old guy is just not going to make it. They have used up eight of their nine lives, and there is no getting around the fact.

In his last year of life, our old cat reached the point that he began to elicit pity from practically everyone who came by. Even very old cats like adoration and petting, and attention in general, but they don't much like pity. Pity does not appeal to their sense of dignity.

While old veteran dogs seem to wear a look in their eyes that says, "I'm not sure how much I can do to help out, but I'll be there to do what I can," old cats eyes seem more to be saying, "Couldn't you make yourself useful for once, or is it not obvious to you that I could go for some new and exotic treat about now?" Or, "I had this yesterday, and the day before, and probably the day before that. Is it too much to ask that you give me something I would like, for a change?"

Of course cats verbalize these sorts of messages much more than do dogs. Old dogs are as quiet or quieter than they have ever been. Old cats "find their voice" in their autumn years.

We have always had indoor/outdoor cats, and in their prime, they almost don't care what we do for them. A bowl of dry cat food is plenty enough. And of course letting them in and out and in and out and in and out. (And then back in.)

My "Ninth Life Pajama Cat with Minor Repairs" is in honor of our last cat. I came up with various "plans" to fix him up, propping up his sagging backbone, supporting his tired old head and feeble legs, but he was just not to be fixed. I'm not saying my repair ideas were good ones. Even in my most optimistic moments I didn't figure he could be maintained much longer, but this piece shows some of the ideas I had to squeeze the last bits of feline companionship out of his weary old hide. But as with all things, his days came to an eventual end. Griping, cranky warrior to the last, he must surely hunt the nights away with his ancestors, in the land of the flightless birds, free of the boastful tauntings of his youthful prey.