The light in this place is so blinding, so intense, that for as long as I can remember, it has forced me to close my eyes. Now this is about to change. Coming out of a brilliant haze, here she is: My Creator. I am clay in her hands. Let her do with me as she pleases; for what am I to do?
Now listen, listen to that sound: The air is vibrating around her; I can feel her breast heaving. Is she about to blow life into me? Here it is, here is her touch—
She puts a mark on me, pressing the sharp end of a chisel until it pierces the center of my eye. I shriek! I cry without a sound. It is not until she pulls out the blade, that I become afflicted—for the first time in my life—with vision. Emerging from the glow that has so far pervaded my existence, I open my eyes.
The haze is gone. There is not much to see around me. Here is a dim place. A place of doubt. Clutter. Confusion. From this point on, I start sensing shadows..."
So starts one of the strangest stories I have ever written... Take a look at female figure in my sculpture, and then listen, because it is in her voice that the story is told.
Once the original clay model arrives in the foundry, it is dismembered: below you can see the dismembered lower part of the male dancer of the clay model for my sculpture (seen in full, above, in bronze.) A 'negative' of the parts is created, a mold, ready for pouring of molten bronze. Having witnessed this process, which takes as long as six weeks from the time the clay model arrives and a bronze sculpture is ready, made me think about death and rebirth, which is what this story--now included in my book Twisted--is about.
"A sensitive melding of poetry, prose, and art"
You are very talented Uvi - sculptor and writer, wow!
ReplyDeleteOh thank you so much Romy! There is a cross-polination between my art and writing...
DeleteBrilliant and beautiful, Uvi!
ReplyDeleteAw... Thank you so much dear Marcia!
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