Many artists have certain rituals or times in which they set aside for creative thought. For them, creativity is something to be conjured or formed from the recesses of one’s mind. I’m not here to thwart their artistic endeavors or the methods to which they glean them. I do know that for me, creativity is something that comes after hours or days of hard work in a moment of rest when I am able to contemplate what it is that I can do to make the world and my craft better. I’ve worked very hard my entire life and there is for me no greater way to break into the beauty of the mind than the sweat from my brow or the burning in my biceps.
Being a large man of 6′2″, I have taken my strength for granted, thinking that since my body is built to be a work horse, it seemed logical that I should work at stone with the same brute force. Yet time, as water does a mountain, erodes the hard chips of our thought and minds to mold it into the vessel it needs to be. You cannot brutalize stone or any other medium from which you create. You must respect it, appreciate it, and nuture is as the beautiful and delicate thing that it is. The sweat of my brow now comes not from the hitting of the chisel or the screaming of the wet saw as much as the caressing and gentle stroke of the sandpaper and polishing pads I use to soften and awaken the beauty within the stones. Age has place the gray at my temples and the gentleness in my hands along with the hard callouses that still cover them. And, although I do miss the energy of youth at times, I wouldn’t trade the lessons of a lifetime that have made me the man that I am and the artist that I’ve become. The hard work now is not in the physical as much as the mental. It is where the true strength lies and where my real creativity flows.
