Sculpting in Time

Sculpture is not Art
While art comes to you, asks questions, makes you feel and create a “spirit” out of that interaction, my sculpture is the result of both my and your telepathic work. I sculpt it as a silent clairvoyant who taps into your future desires. My Sculpture is the submissive, material form, an image of what one day you may arrive to. An uncontrollable substance of chance and opportunity. 
Ceci n’est pas une fin, this is not an end. 

The sculptor, when working a piece, is travelling towards you as owner of that work. As a Nostradamus who works in clay. As an archaeologist of a future, removing the material that covers the work.  

Sculpture is the document you leave behind your existence. It’s wordless and immense, can be viewed from infinite angles. 
That’s why this sculpture I am talking about is small in physical size, could be hold in 1 hand, as Hamlet holds the skull, could fit in your suitcase, if you had to flee the world.  

Pompeii is everyone’s story. Even on a death bed, you really can’t know the exact moment of your transition, how will you react in that split second. 
What the caterpillar calls the End, the rest call a butterfly. Sculpture is the specific pupa that consumes all the caterpillar ate, to prepare the winged continuation.  

The Pompeiian, without understanding what was happening, mimed a quintessence of their past: some were found alone, frightened or resigned, others embracing someone or something they wanted to be with in what humans call “forever”. 

They were found in their pupa. That is the only sculpture where the maker and owner are one.  
 
When archaeologists started cleaning the solidified ash in Pompeii, the pupa shapes were empty. But the meaning was clear. To highlight that meaning, their poured liquid plaster and out came the shape of the people that resided inside the pupa.  

Perceptual similarity  
is the process of comparing your sensual perception of the image you are looking at, be it drawing, painting etc, with what you already think it is represented there.  
An expectation solidified by centuries of pre-photographic reproduction.  
 
Sculptures represented the invisible, the feared, worshipped gods, they told stories.  
Sculptures pay homage to heroic people, reinforce national pride. 
Sculptures, I’m still talking about the figurative, impresses with the technical skill of the sculptor, the surprising execution of a subject in a material that the original (a man, a cat, a pillow) was not made of. 
Sculpture surprises with visual tricks, making jokes or aiming to be decorative and pleasing. 
By default, these are susceptible of addressing the general viewer’s feelings, because they fall under the concept of Artistic creations. 
 
I had to briefly mention these functions, to make clear, in case I was too vague, that the Sculpture I am talking about does NOT fall into any of these groups.  

Look at mine as a form of figurative-impressionism, if I may borrow the term from Art painting. They represent a recognizable entity, but they are sculpted in a way to mostly create an impression of a process.  
Though I did not have the pleasure of using hallucinogenic opioids, it would probably be easier to read the meaning of my “pupa shapes” if you took some. Or if, like me, you trust your mind enough to let it slide on a surreal skeleton race. 
If that is not an option for you, the sculpture will just be similar to a figuration.  
In all honesty, I am aware how arrogant that sounds. In other words, if you don't get the “deep meaning” of my sculpture, it’s all on you. It is not my intention! probably seeing my sculpture will fade fast out of your memory, just as a distant voice that wasn't clear enough doesn’t form words but only stays a sound. 
 
Here’s where I speak to the person that will want my sculpture for himself. 
After reading how I feel about Pompeiian plaster sculptures, how I look at what I sculpt as a possible representation of the moment of death, with the history that death is determined by and arrives, if YOU think it comes a bit close to what you would expect, my sculpture is for you.  
The sculpture only serves you to reflect on the story of your life, death, whatever you call this chain. Use it like Hindus and Muslims use the prayer beads, or Hamlet acknowledging an end we all must face.  
A fogged window brushed with one hand slightly reveals what is behind that window. And what you see there is not what it is, as Magritte would say. And it’s not fixed. The sculpture that you now hold in your hands and “consult” at times, is a compass, a Ouija board, even a reason at some point to say “what was I thinking?”. 
In that case, you know the sculpture was made for you, by my hallucinogenic hands and imagination, by my queer nature.