You could see in his eyes the wild gallops of his past, his lush mane streaming and his glorious tail wind-whipped in his wake. Eight years in the wilds of Utah, a stallion, maybe with his own band, maybe running in the bachelor herd, a life on the move— grazing, finding water, rutting and running…

When a sculpture is going well, I feel as if I am in a dialogue with the emerging form, with each tool used, and with the material itself. My hands and eyes are listening, responding, exploring, coaxing. Sometimes what comes out is a complete surprise to me, as if a combination of my unconscious, the…