Sculpture and Fostering Harmony

You never know who's going to show up for an artist's talk.

Or not show at all....

Me demonstrating carving at the Architectural Heritage Center

Four people attended Wed's talk at the Architectural Heritage Center. The two organizing staff members, one volunteer and one of the sponsors of the show, interior designer Kathia Emery.

I'm glad we did it anyway as it allowed everyone present time to try their hand at carving. Though after all the work of hauling tools, concrete, room and floor protection -lots of cardboard, the experience had me craving Wistlwa Szymborska's poem, Poetry Reading, from her book view with a grain of sand.


To be a boxer, or not to be there
at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare-
it’s time to start this cultural affair.
Half came in side because it started raining,
the rest are relatives. O Muse.


The women here would love to rant and rave,
but that’s for boxing. Here they must behave.
Dante’s Inferno is ringside nowadays.
Likewise his Paradise. O Muse.


Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet,
one sentenced to hard shelleying for life,
for lack of muscles forced to show the world
the sonnet that may make the high-school reading lists
with luck. O muse,
O bobtailed angel, Pegasus.


In the first row, a sweet old man’s soft snore:
he dreams his wife’s alive again. What’s more
she’s making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame, but carefully-don’t burn his cake!--
we start to read. O Muse.