‘REQUIEM’ - Metamorphosis, Mortality, and the Bear Within

There was a word that stuck out when selecting the name of my recent bear. I have to admit (and this fact goes with many of y sculptures), I often find moments of love and distaste. This is obviously a useful quality to have reason to allow some constructive criticism happen (since there isn’t a panel of apes who jury my work over my shoulder). But I digress; the point is the subject matter is one I’ve done many times before but I like to try a pose that is unique to the shape of the stone, but also unique to what I have done before. At this moment, I am satisfied.

You won’t hear a critique often from an artist, but coming from my perspective, it is probably valuable, from another person looking outside, to one’s internal disposition. As in, this reflects our souls need to improve. This experience I can share and perhaps you’ll find some solace in it.

There are certain angles I love this sculpture, but there are certain angles I do not. I think part of that is inevitable due to the nature of bears hidden nature. But also this sculpture in particular. I’ve read from commentators that they like the bears head to be ‘point up’. Yet I do no see this in nature often. They will sniff the air, but only look up if they suspect something. But they are stealth animals for the most part. They weight hundreds of pounds yet can creep through the densest of forests without being heard before even being seen and they are just as good as being unseen as they are unheard. I know. But this all lends itself to being ‘hidden’.

The qualities of the bear are just as mysterious as I’ve always felt. In many Native American traditions, the bear is seen as a carrier of ancient wisdom, a guide, and even an elder kinsman who has taken the form of a bear. Through dreams and visions, they are said to reveal which plants heal, and which paths to follow.

This might sound far-fetched, but I recently went through an experience that confronted me with mortality, and it has transformed the way I see myself and my life. I’ve realized how often I’ve taken my days for granted—living as a provider, a “respectable commoner,” carrying weight on a thin frame until I became something I no longer recognized.

Years ago, I saw this clearly in a photograph with my cousin, someone very much like me. Yet in that photo, I appeared already transformed into the “respectable version” of myself. Looking back now, I see how true it is: we all shapeshift in our own ways.

Now, after this brush with mortality, I feel another transformation unfolding. Some sides of me I do not recognize—and I am making conscious steps to move away from them. We are all in metamorphosis, whether we realize it or not.

I sculpted a piece some time ago called Metamorphose—a polar bear, gazing upward, almost in prayer. To me, it symbolized that genesis of transformation: sitting crushed, yet lifting our spirit high to look to the Creator for help. The slow shift from mind to movement, where grace begins to act on our behalf. It’s no coincidence that this piece found a new home.

Now, I find myself holding Requiem, a sculpture that has accompanied me through the darkest chapter of my life. Its name means “rest” or “repose.” And it became just that for me: a space of deep reflection, a cathedral of silence, where the shifting light of each day reminded me that rest is not idleness, but a sacred part of transformation.

We are transforming, all of us. May you find your own requiem—a place of repose, where light shimmers through ordinary moments like stained glass, illuminating the hidden spirit within you.