Calmness, Catharsis and Creativity

What do you do when your head needs settling? When the pressures of the day, the news, social media, family - whatever your triggers are - get too much?

I walk the dogs, every day, two miles, usually more, twice a day, every day, whatever the weather. It maintains my fitness and mental equilibrium and it immerses me in the natural world, providing inspiration for sculpture. But it’s not always enough, and as it’s the core of my daily routine I sometimes need more. That’s where sculpture comes in.

An artist’s job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.

So said Woody Allen. Bit of a tall order, that, I reckon. If, though, I can make something that speaks to someone enough that they stop to look twice, that they reach out to touch it (yes, always allowed at my exhibitions), that they alter their position to see another angle, that they even think about buying it, then maybe I’ve made a very small contribution to that antidote. If you allow art to reach out to you, if you let it into your heart, if you can love a piece enough to give it a place in your mind or even your home, then you know this already. But art can work on a whole other level. It does for me, and it can for you too, I promise.

When I am carving, and it’s good, and I’m not doubting myself, and the rhythm is going to get me, I lose myself in the process. The movement of the chisel, the tapping of the dummy (that’s a sculptor’s hammer, not me), the collecting dust, the emerging shape - they all seem to happen almost without my intervention. A calm descends and time flows at a different rate than normal. I stop to take a photo or to adjust the position of the piece and two hours has gone by. I realise I’m thirsty, so - tea. then back to it.

The physical exertion of sculpture can be exhausting. A full day at the banker is a real workout. I often have more than one piece on the go so that when my right elbow and forearm ache from the heavy work of roughing out, I can do some sanding for a while. This tests my arthritic thumbs, so I might then swap to some fine detailed work for a while, where all the effort is in the chisel hand. When my eyes and my left forearm can’t cope with this anymore, I’ll maybe pick up the angle grinder for some very rough work on a large piece. Then back we go. It’s full body work

My Sculpture-in-a-Day courses are fairly full-on. Guests arrive around 9.30am - I make tea and coffee and we introduce ourselves. I do a very quick bit of geology, explaining the nature of the stone that we are working (Maltese globigerina limestone, for the record) and give an introduction to the tools that we use. Then it’s hands on with a practice bit of stone for a short while before I speak to each of the four participants about what they are wanting to create and how we might achieve that in the day. Then it’s rapidly on to the main piece of stone and the beginnings of creating a sculpture.

Occasionally I need to suggest changes to a guest’s ideas - an airborne dragonfly would undoubtedly have broken, but it worked brilliantly as a panel.

I move around the sculpture benches (bankers, to be correct) giving advice, guiding as to how to turn an idea into reality, explaining how to make a 2d sketch or photo become a 3d carving, socialising and making tea and coffee. It’s exhausting for me! At least it is until about 11.30 or so. Then, everyone has slipped into a rhythm. They each have an image of their piece and how it will progress. They have a plan. Some even have something already identifiable. It calms down. I make tea and coffee. The biscuits come out. Brows may be furrowed in concentration but already, people are feeling successful.

Chip chip chipping away at the stone, chip chip chipping away at the frustration and stress of daily life. I often lend a hand to a sculptor’s work in the early stages.

It’s at this stage that a sense of calm descends, and - usually - stays for the day. I would say that on every single course at least one of the sculptors, happy at their banker (as we call the carving benches), comments that they haven’t thought about their ‘real’ life at all, all day. At least one will comment that I really should market this as mindfulness, wellbeing or similar. At least one will comment that this is the best therapy they could imagine. And I, well I will always agree. It certainly works for me.