1996 sculpture: clay, wire, acrylic paint, 15", by Chris Wayan.
I have recurring dreams of a feline familiar or anima who loves dance. At last, I tried sculpting her.
Her figure's made of unfired clay--pushes the limits of what raw clay can do.
She has coat-hanger bones and acrylic paint for skin, which strengthens her some.
I'm not totally satisfied with her stance--from some angles it feels more earthbound than I hoped.
But it's a miracle she can rear up at all.
I (and you) can reach far higher,
If mere clay can so aspire.
Sorry, was that too Hallmark?
Still, this is dirt--and it's dancing. I intend to remember that the next time someone treats me like dirt.
If dirt can dance, what can WE do?
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