It is a painful process to take the sculptors knife to myself. I’ve scraped here and there – to soften some edges and make others sharper. The shavings fall to the ground and make a mess. My outer core is badly bruised and in some places bloody. I rest and then take up the knife once more. I see where I need to dig in deeply and sink the tool of truth into a very dark crevice. I twist and turn and shave that spot so the light can hit it just so. It is sad to get rid of the parts that I thought would stay-I grieve and then get back to work.
I step back and notice a beautiful symmetry and my heart starts beating faster. I can see where this is going. I glance down at the shavings and don’t mind the mess so much because I have a vision for my bust. I catch my breath as I now see the beautiful piece that is emerging. I would have missed this had I left it as it was. If I had not picked up the sculpting knife the beauty inside would not have come to life.
I see how the light can now shine into all the angles, how it reaches into some of the crevices and makes a shadow. The dark and the light-all of it fills me with strange admiration. Is it okay to love one’s own work? I feel a sense of love flowing from deep within and realize that it is not only me who stands there admiring the work. It is a joint venture. The vision was not mine alone but I am the one who picked up the knife and revealed the story. Now it is there for all to see. And it is good…