Returning to the Studio: Bears, Stone, and Strength in Motion

Today I stepped back into the carving studio for the first time in almost a month. It’s been a difficult stretch—Lyme disease put me in the ICU with a third-degree heart block. That experience forced me to learn rest in a way I never had before. Even now, I know I need to move slowly, listen to my body, and not rush back into life.

The truth is, my body reminded me quickly that I wasn’t invincible. After a short studio session, running on little sleep from nightshift, I ended up wrecked—palpitations, sweats, my heart struggling to keep up. For a moment, I thought I had lost my momentum as an artist.

But stepping back into the studio today, I realized something powerful: the work hadn’t gone anywhere. My tools were waiting. My bear sculpture was waiting. And I was able to pick up right where I left off.

This piece is carved from a soapstone sourced in Labrador, Canada, known for its strong fracture lines that create a striking natural appearance. I can’t wait to see it polished, as it’s a stone I’ve never worked with before.

My carving style is often described as wave-like—fluid lines that run across the body of the form. For me, this isn’t just aesthetic; it’s a way to capture timing and energy. Once an animal’s anatomy is sculpted—the muscles, fur, facial features, the grounding of feet and toes—the real fun begins. I carve intuitive gestures into the form, subtle contours that echo movement and energy. These lines accentuate natural rhythms, exaggerate certain features, and give the sculpture its vitality.

With animals like the black bear, motion itself is a study in grace. Their strides flow effortlessly from step to step, despite their immense weight—anywhere from 250 to 550 pounds in adulthood. I’ve spent countless hours analyzing those small differences in movement, how weight shifts through the muscles and bones, creating the illusion of something almost weightless. That balance is what I try to capture in stone.

To me, it’s not just physical movement but energy itself. Rocks, like living beings, shift, grow, and change over time. Stone has a life force of its own, and many traditions speak to the subtle energy within minerals. Whether you believe that or not, I know carving is my way of translating those energies into form.

This bear is still in progress. There are imbalances in the proportions, partly because I chose a stone that naturally tapers from back to front. But that taper, that weight carried toward the back, feels right—it echoes the stealth and strength of black bears themselves.

I’m grateful to be carving again. To be reminded that even after illness, even after rest, strength returns. Like the stone, like the bear, we move forward. Slowly, but with power.