While in preparation for making Millstones (aka Pandora’s Pets), I knew I’d have to get some polymer clay and extra tools. Before a trip to the store(s), however, I went to explore the attic.
I’ve spent more time there during the past six months or so than I had in some while. The attic is a study in non-Euclidean storage and sorting; recent trips revealed a few sculpting tools in random places. Once I’d begun a diligent search for what I might need I found more than what I’d thought I might have to buy.
Cards from an art supplies shop had been given during the Christmas Holiday season, though, so I would have to go “buy” some. The almost-forgotten reserve in the attic meant the new selections could be of things I did not have. I got two sets of metal tools that will probably replace the plastic set – once I’ve had time to experiment with the new batch.
A Millstone, I should say, is part of an imaginary environment. Each one is be about half the volume of a baseball. They an easily sit in the palm. I see Millstones as a collage of positive emotion and good intention, built from a state of near-serenity, with the intent to help people find all of those ingredients. (And for those who might think that sounds a bit hokey, I’m told the Millstones are adorably cute.)
It has always been true that when I am sculpting I smile the entire time. Making any sculpture is one of two sources of a completely at ease and pleased state. As a former scientist, I cannot claim that art made in such a state carries energy to the eventual owner. As a very, if oddly, spiritual man – I can hope. And do.