When I was a third-grader on a shopping trip, Nana paused in the Denver Dry Goods to show me the stairway where a favorite deceased cousin had appeared to her. We shared a profound moment of awe. Then, in the usual Irish manner of weaving together chores and philosophy, we hustled on to make the bus.
Hymns of chariots swinging low to carry us home, the complete Lives of the Saints, the children who longed to be martyrs and play with Baby Jesus, happily anchored my heart in the unseen.
My studio is crowded with spirits --- Michelangelo, De Grazia, Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim, children, grandchildren and other loves --- that breathe through me for a wee bit when they want to leave their prints in my clay. So my sculptures come from prayers and clotheslines in green grass, potatoes, scrubbing floors and lighting candles, laughter and longing for the loved ones here, and the loved ones "there."
Here’s to our hearts smiling at one another through my little works of clay. love, c