other people's work 0.000001

As a child I was the proud owner of a special silver crucifix. What was peculiar about it was that in the centre there was a small glass circle that, when holding the cross up to the light and peeking inside, revealed the Lord's Prayer written on a mustard seed. It was a frequent source of amazement to me that anyone could write anything at all in such tiny script, never mind the Lord's Prayer which, as you may recall, is lengthy enough that writing it on a post-it note would take up the entire space. The crucifix disappeared long ago - I think eventually the centrepiece fell out and after that it was just a cross with a hole in the middle.

The reason I mentioned this is that a while back I came across an article about a man who makes the world's tiniest sculptures and when I say tiny I mean unbelievably, microscopically small. Willard Wigan makes his sculptures out of dust particles, sugar crystals, grains of sand etc. and then positions them inside the eyes of needles or on the heads of pins. Spending months meticulously carving his materials into micro-figures like the ones displayed above Wigan is a 'micro-miniaturist', an artist known for creating some of the world's smallest sculptures.

From his website:

“It began when I was five years old,” says Willard. “I started making houses for ants because I thought they needed somewhere to live. Then I made them shoes and hats. It was a fantasy world I escaped to. That’s how my career as a micro-sculptor began.”

Willard’s micro-sculptures are now so minute that they are only visible through a microscope. Each piece commonly sits within the eye of a needle, or on a pin head. The personal sacrifices involved in creating such wondrous, yet scarcely believable pieces are inconceivable to most. Willard enters a meditative state in which his heartbeat is slowed, allowing him to reduce hand tremors and sculpt between pulse beats. Even the reverberation caused by outside traffic can affect Willard’s work. Consequently, he often works through the night when there is minimal disruption.

I've seen pictures of Willard Wigan's studio setup and have seen him interviewed, but after searching the internets looking to find how these sculptures could be made and what tools could possibly be used I'm still at a loss. It's either magic or something so close to magic it makes no real difference. I still wonder about the Lord's Prayer on a mustard seed too, but I know it was real because it was mine for a time.




I believe in magic.
How about you?
♡

the sculpture class

Okay I've been scribbling again but while I was doing so I remembered one of the sillier things that happened during my art modeling career long ago. You may recall I was in the process of saving money for a long trip to Europe - one my parents reluctantly agreed to but wouldn't fund.

At one point I was invited to model for an introductory sculpture class that would take place as three hour sessions twice weekly for six weeks. The fee sounded pretty good so I signed on. I didn't usually accept poses determined by instructors but in this case it was necessary that it be a standing pose with my arms held close in to my body. The students worked with modeling clay over wire armatures and during the course of those weeks gradually built sculptures that looked vaguely human and female but didn't bear more than a cursory resemblance to me. By then a major reason for continuing as an artist's model was my certainty nobody would ever recognize me as having been the model.

Eventually some of the students entered the final phase of the process that would allow them to cast their work into more permanent material. The first part was to divide their figures in half lengthwise by attaching a thin two inch wide collar of clay around the outer edge. After coating the figures with vaseline to allow for easy removal later they'd flick wet plaster in tiny droplets at the clay statue to make a mold. Meanwhile, I was still posing for the benefit of slower workers. I should tell you that by this point I'd be in pain even if I accidentally slipped into the pose when I wasn't in the class. Added to the agony of the long pose I was now subjected to being pelted by stray bits of plaster - not always by accident, I suspected.

There was a rule back then that no cameras were allowed in the studio while the model was posing. One evening a student arrived with a camera. Now this wasn't one of the smaller varieties of cameras people could buy in those non-tech times, but a giant studio rig. Grinning widely, he hauled in his tripod and lights and was in the process of setting up the whole lot directly facing me. What did I do? I grabbed my robe and left the stage while everybody else told him off.

I'm happy there were no cell phones in those days, or facebook. 
♡

making friends

New friends can arrive unexpectedly as delightful surprises bearing the gifts of mutual experience and understanding. More often we have to work on making new friendships. In our sterile culture we're careful about giving too much information about our thoughts and deeper feelings. A lifetime of subjective lessons doesn't translate easily between acquaintances of short duration but we try and that can only be good.




This is a picture of a friend I made in the purely literal sense of the word. His name is Baba Ganoosh and he required more effort than I've had the time or inclination to spend on most people in recent years. Of course, most people would object to having their skeleton twisted of sculpture wire, their head and hands moulded and baked from polymer clay, muscles made from cotton balls and gauze, joints of wooden beads and all covered in the blue skin of a favorite spandex camisole. Baba didn't mind at all and only seemed to become more pleased with each enhancement. His braids and wild long hair were glued and sewn on bit by bit; his eyes and smile lit up with a little paint. His boots were fashioned from the fingers of an old pair of gloves given to me by my mother (thanks, Mam), pantaloons from a dress I bought one afternoon on Thayer St. in Providence and his jacket from a bookmark a friend brought home from Turkey. Best of all, nestled deep inside, is the pink amethyst heart pendant I wore as a child. It's a little cracked but Baba is healing it for me. That's what friends are for.




I met another friend recently at yes is red where I discovered this beautiful little painting. When I asked if I could have it to show you Rene spoke of having painted it a few years ago and I was triple delighted. It's always good to have friends who are confident of their talents and willing to share.

Happy Mother's Day to all my friends.