Conversations with the Artist (2)

My first teacher told me that what sculpture involved was being a God. He was not talking about the old ways, about fashioning a man out of a rib. Out of the earth. A god can see something that does not exist yet in the world. Who could have imagined the giraffe, the octopus, the flounder? Who could have imagined our sharp sensibilities, our contortions? The materials are all there—eyes and blood and respiration, but still, they get made new. Now I know that these days such a view is against science, but the idea of a god is as real as god is not. A scientist who sees what has been done versus one who can make straw out of gold. Or more like plastic out of petroleum. Paper out of trees. You have to decide which kind you will be. We’re mistaken when we equate the wise and the prophetic. You’re always looking either backwards or forwards. This piece puts you on a precipice. It’s up to you which way you fall. You see—it’s all there. The scientist and the artist were once one— how else could you record what you saw? How else, find a way of seeing?