I am asked a lot why do I put every bit of my time, effort, and resources, into making a sculpture if it's not a commission? Why do I push myself to exhaustion? Why do I skip meals, bloody my hands, kill my back, and ignore the pain so that I can get just a little more done? I could answer something like I don't really have a choice, or that if I don't, I wouldn't be true to who I am. People who have callings might give you a story of how that happened. Why they chose a way of life-- why they transcribed the music in their heads--why they devoted themselves to God -- Why they followed their hearts instead of their logic-- Why they took a risk when every bit of their fiber told them to stay in safety. Maybe there was a bright light or an understanding. Maybe they were completely at their lowest when something or someone showed them the way to higher ground. An epiphany? Maybe I would tell you that for me, each piece that comes to me through some inspiration, a spark within the instant, a late summer's dream, a random and extraordinary meeting, the fragrance of a long forgotten perfume, a memory not exactly mine, is like a calling: instructions to unravel a little bit of myself, my surroundings, the universe. I do it because it drives me. It feeds my soul and passion. It is my looking glass into the past, present, and future. I drink because I am thirsty.