The Artist's Story
reaches, touches, feels. Adds and subtracts masses, colors, shapes. First
he chooses one material, soon replaces it with another, searching for the
right means to complete his work. He abandons hammer and chisel for soft
clay, later exchanging it for paint. Though it is his hands that do the
work, it is his heart and soul that drive his fingers. He is forming an
image of a woman, one among many he has created.
Why is he obsessed with his own imagining? Why does he reject the flowers in the garden - real women in the prime of youth or maturity? Slender, athletic, lithe or sturdy? Fair, dark, sensuous? Simple, witty, bright, feeling, or sympathetic? Those with endless compassion and passion?