Between Stone and Becoming

Much of what I write tends to circle around meaning—art as symbol, as prayer, as something larger than ourselves. But it feels right to pause and offer a more grounded update: what has been happening in the habits, worries, hopes, and small victories of this very feeble human behind the work.

Last month, I found the time and focus to finish six pieces: three inuksuks and three birds. A modest achievement by most measures, yet each piece carried my heart in its own way. Letting them go is never easy—especially when pricing them means balancing emotion with the practical need to grow. Tools must be bought. Stone must be sourced. Future projects must be funded.

And let me tell you—there is always something coming. I tend to keep a couple thousand dollars’ worth of plans quietly waiting in the wings. It sounds ambitious, perhaps even excessive, but my plans have always been taller than I am. Growth asks for that. A small heart stretches by reaching just a little further each time, taking slightly longer journeys, testing the edges of what feels possible.

Looking Ahead

One upcoming project is a Great Egret—an undertaking that excites me deeply and intimidates me just as much. Anyone familiar with the bird can imagine the challenge: long, delicate proportions, elegance in motion, all translated into alabaster. The technical demands are immense. I’ve already spent hours working through multiple 3D renders, studying anatomy and balance, refining the form before stone ever meets tool.

And honestly—that excitement is what matters most. When curiosity is alive, the work is already halfway done.

Letting Work Find Its Place

Another moment that stayed with me was delivering the recent birds and inuksuks to the gallery as promised. While there, the gallery owner shared a discreet note about the collector who had acquired my last owl—anonymous, but described as a particularly discerning and respected collector.

Art means something personal to every collector, but knowing that a thoughtful, experienced eye chose one of my works does stir a quiet pride. More than that, I felt relief. Relief knowing the piece now rests somewhere it will be cared for, highlighted, and allowed to speak for itself. That owl stayed close to me for a long time. Rarely do I finish a piece and feel no urge to change it weeks later—but that one held.

On Change and Choice

All of this led me to a reflection I’ve been carrying this past week: we are always changing, whether we notice it or not. Our minds are freer than we often believe—if only we learn how to unlock the doors we’ve built ourselves.

Fear has a way of disguising itself as practicality. It nudges us toward self-sabotage, toward small compromises that slowly dim our potential. But change is unlocked through choice. We are, each of us, the captain of our own soul—hands on the rudder, steering either toward open waters or onto the rocks of familiar, lost islands.

What we choose to do with our time today—whatever portion of it we still hold—reshapes our tomorrow. Freedom begins there. Not in grand gestures, but in choosing not to live as a slave to circumstance.

We all believe this, deep down. We know it from the inside out.

As Maximus said in Gladiator:

“What we do in life echoes in eternity.”