A Sculpting Student and His ‘Freedom’

My sculpting classes vary in focus and length and age. I often encounter talent, and every student is unique in his or her own way… And yet, I must take note of a particular student who has remarkable potential. The kid is in his freshman year of college, which I guess means he’s around nineteen years old, and his name is Josh. (Whose name isn’t Josh, these days?)

His last piece was a portrait of a woman which he titled ‘Freedom.’ His work resembles that of some of the most classic sculptors, such as Michelangelo, but it also reveals a more modern, angular edge to it. While I tend to lean towards the more abstract, symbolic style of ancient art, there is certainly no denying this boy’s unique talent. His finished sculpture Freedom is slightly larger than life-size, in the form of a young, or possibly middle-aged woman. She seems to be gazing into the distance while her hair is swept back by an invisible wind. From behind, the hair seems to take on the shape of wings. The sculpture is very detailed, I was especially impressed with the ears, as many of my students tend to neglect those while working on portraits. I would put a photo up here if I could only figure out how… But anyways, I must find out about upcoming art shows, this boy absolutely must be found!

Snow Blues

In my last post I said these winter days are beautiful, but today I woke up with very little patience for the snow. Looking out the window I could barely make out the car parked outside for all the snow piled everywhere, and the chill seeping through the glass reminded me how cold the floor would be when I got out of bed. Of course, Nina was already awake, I could hear her singing from the kitchen, and the smell of the coffee she was making did manage to warm my mood a drop.

I spent the day in the studio; I had a bunch of classes in the afternoon, and I must say I was very impressed with my students for showing up. I’m not sure if the seventeen-year-old me would’ve braved the snow just for a sculpting class. In fact, I’m not even sure how the sixty-three-year-old me managed to do so! Of course, I love my trade, and the teaching as well, but the clay gets so unbelievably cold. And of course, it renders those winter hand-creams that Nina buys me practically pointless. But still, there’s nothing more satisfying then the feeling of clay as you shape it into a masterpiece.