Tracing the Heavens – An Owl in Stone

The thoughts and feelings that come with the artist’s life are important, but every so often I need to pause and reflect on the process itself—how a sculpture is actually made.

Recently, I’ve been immersed in a new piece that revealed its name to me long before I finished carving it. That’s a rare occurrence, and I take it as a sign that the motivation and meaning were already clear before the final details emerged.

The journey began about two months ago when I stumbled across a piece of stone from one of my two trusted stone dealers. It was an odd block—strangely colored with strong fracture lines running in different directions. For most carvers, that’s a definite “no.” Fractures can spell disaster, unless met with careful intention, planning, and a little luck. But I can’t resist a challenge, and I had already bought a similar stone just weeks earlier.

Around the same time, I came across a hollowed knot of cherry wood in a specialty wood shop. For $35, it seemed destined to become the base of one of my signature owls. The block sat waiting in my studio until, one day, I came across a photograph of an owl in an unusual pose—elegant, youthful, stretched upward. It reminded me of my daughter, and I knew instantly: this was the form I needed to carve.

To work out the posture, I sculpted a small plasticine model over 3.5 hours. From there, I scanned it using a lidar app on my phone and imported the model into a 3D program. Having a digital version I could rotate freely gave me a reliable reference alongside my sketches and collage of owl images.

Equipped with a new facemask, a 7” Makita grinder, fresh hand tools, and a custom carving table, I set to work in the studio. The first stage was intense—the grinder raising so much dust I could hardly see until it settled, even with my dust collection system running. Step by step, I shifted to finer burrs and cutters, slowly shaping the fragile stone into something true to the vision.

At this stage, I’m confident in the form, though there’s still a great deal of work ahead. What began as a discarded stone and a forgotten block of wood is taking shape as Tracing the Heavens—a sculpture whose name arrived before the carving was even halfway done.

I’ll share more as the owl emerges from the stone.

Sweater Weather, New Beginnings, and the Upper Canada Native Art Gallery

This morning I’m sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, taking in what feels like the best time of year. Sweater weather—cool air that clears out the heaviness of summer and makes you pause for a breath of gratitude. It’s a reminder that the simplest moments can hold so much weight.

Yesterday was a milestone for me. I was accepted into the Upper Canada Native Art Gallery in Niagara-on-the-Lake—a place my wife and I have always loved for its preserved history and calm spirit. To have my work resting there feels deeply right. The gallery owner, someone with great experience curating sculpture, offered me kind words that helped lift the doubts that so often come with being an artist. As I’ve come to learn, where art finds its home is just as important as the piece itself. My hope is that my work offers the same rest and repose to others that it has given me in creating it.

But even in this moment of gratitude, I feel the pull back to the studio. The next piece is already waiting for me in the stone—a soapstone owl on a cherry wood base. The form is there, hidden inside, and my role is to carve gently so as not to disturb it too soon. With new tools and a fresh workspace ready, I’m eager to begin. Every new work feels like a conversation with the stone, and I’m looking forward to seeing where this one leads.