As a sculptor, one of the greatest pleasures I have is watching how viewers interact with my sculptures. Once, a decade ago, I had a woman look at one of my rough-textured small bronzes and burst into sobs. When she finally recomposed herself, she told me, “That sculpture is me when I was young. We had nothing and my mother did her best, but I always had messy hair and was a little disheveled…but I was happy anyway, especially when I danced.”
Recently I’ve noticed something different. Lots of people want to go dancing with my sculptures. I mean LOTS of folks. In every group there seems to be at least one person that starts dancing. My favorite is little girls. So why do people want to dance with them? Maybe it's the same reason when Garth Brooks sings, I think I can sing.
The sculptures are light on their feet and look to be floating. . .maybe that person sees their self taking flight in dance. Perhaps they are inspired by the movement and want to see for themselves, just for a moment, if they really have a hidden dancer lurking inside. Maybe they really are a dancer—jumping toddler, lithe grownup, or arm-chair ballerina—and they want to see if they have really got, or still have, that playful move.
Last week in Sioux Falls for an installation, I met a real ballerina, Chloe, who, goaded by her friends, showed her moves next to Spiral Dance.
Sometimes I wonder if anybody really sees or understands what I am trying to do with joyful dances. Last week, sitting on a park bench away from my sculpture, I was handed dozens of little dancing love letters from ordinary people of all ages who shed their ought tos and must dos for a moment of joy in the sun. Every dance filled my cup. It just doesn’t get any better than that.
Recently I’ve noticed something different. Lots of people want to go dancing with my sculptures. I mean LOTS of folks. In every group there seems to be at least one person that starts dancing. My favorite is little girls. So why do people want to dance with them? Maybe it's the same reason when Garth Brooks sings, I think I can sing.
The sculptures are light on their feet and look to be floating. . .maybe that person sees their self taking flight in dance. Perhaps they are inspired by the movement and want to see for themselves, just for a moment, if they really have a hidden dancer lurking inside. Maybe they really are a dancer—jumping toddler, lithe grownup, or arm-chair ballerina—and they want to see if they have really got, or still have, that playful move.
Last week in Sioux Falls for an installation, I met a real ballerina, Chloe, who, goaded by her friends, showed her moves next to Spiral Dance.
Sometimes I wonder if anybody really sees or understands what I am trying to do with joyful dances. Last week, sitting on a park bench away from my sculpture, I was handed dozens of little dancing love letters from ordinary people of all ages who shed their ought tos and must dos for a moment of joy in the sun. Every dance filled my cup. It just doesn’t get any better than that.
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