Song of Myself

I’d like to share with you the journey behind my series of work titled "Song of Myself" and how it came to be. It might take us on a bit of a ride, so grab your favorite beverage.

You've probably noticed a recurring theme in my art – human and figurative pieces. Some are crafted directly onto mannequins, others I've meticulously shaped by hand and embellished from there, and a few have been cast from life. This theme may seem a bit unconventional, but let me take you back a bit.

In my late forties, I dove headfirst into creating art, experimenting with various materials and searching for my creative path. Drawing wasn't my thing, and abstracts didn't quite click either. So, I explored all kinds of different avenues, enjoying the process along the way.

During a visit to a quirky restaurant in Baltimore, I encountered decorated mannequins that sparked something within me. They were adorned with bright colors and random items, nothing groundbreaking artistically, but it planted a seed in my mind.

Years passed, and on my fifty-first birthday, fate intervened. I spotted a mannequin torso in a consignment shop window, and something clicked. It felt like a birthday gift to myself, so I snagged it without hesitation. That first torso became "On the Shore of Kairos," and I was hooked.

From there, I scoured second-hand shops for more mannequin forms, always sourcing used ones for both affordability and sustainability. Over time, my collection grew to include male and female torsos and even some legs. There was one piece, though, that gave me pause – a full-figure mannequin with a head.

I initially resisted, preferring headless forms for reasons that traced back to my childhood dreams. You see, I had recurring dreams of (oddly enough) headless figures, shadowy yet benevolent presences that offered me comfort in their enigmatic calmness. Initially fearful of them, I soon came to welcome them in these recurring dreams. They spoke in gentle low whispers, soothing and wise. I only wish I could remember what they told me. Somehow, for me in my early fifties, working with a mannequin with a head didn’t “fit”, although it took me awhile to figure out why.

This childhood experience sparked a realization now, more than 50 years later – faces may reveal much, but they also conceal. The true essence of a person lies deeper, beyond the façade of features. This insight liberated me to create figures that transcended facial expressions, tapping into a more profound, soulful narrative.

Working with mannequins proved to be both a passion and a challenge, with each piece serving as a self-portrait of sorts. Whether human or animal, each creation I have made embodies its own essence, its own multitudes of emotions and connections.

Then, about six months ago, a phrase echoed in my mind: "I contain multitudes." It seemed to encapsulate the essence of my work – these figures were more than just sculptures; they were reflections of the complexities within them, and within  us all.

Walt Whitman

A quick search revealed the source of the phrase – Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" (1855). Delving into Whitman's epic poem opened up a world of connections, resonating deeply with my Unitarian Universalist beliefs in the interconnectedness of all things.

This amazing writing explores themes of individualism, unity, and the spiritual essence of humanity, embracing the diversity of human experience, and advocating for inclusivity. It celebrates the richness of life and the interconnected web of existence. The inherent worth of every individual resonates throughout the poem, making it a timeless exploration of the human condition and our place in the cosmos.

The key phrase from the poem for me, the one which reverberated in my mind even though I didn’t know where it came from is:

“Do I contradict myself?
Very well then…I contradict myself;
I am large…I contain multitudes.”

As I immersed myself in Whitman's words, I realized that much of my art echoed many of the themes in his poem. Many of them speak to the inherent multitudes within us, reflecting our hidden sides, our passions, thoughts, the subject of life and death, and the interconnectedness with others and the cosmos.

I wonder if those benevolent shadowy figures from my dreams told me of Whitman’s phrase. Perhaps I grew up knowing it. Perhaps that and hefty doses of ‘Star Trek’ guided my path to becoming ‘me’. 

Creating art has become a spiritual practice for me, a way to process my thoughts on life, the universe, and everything. Through each sculpture and painting, I discover more about myself and the living experience we share..

So, when you look at my work – from "The Traveler” (who does have a head, but I think I managed to make it work well in his case) to the hanging torsos to the myriad creatures – know that they contain multitudes, just as I do. They are a reflection of my journey, my exploration of self, and my unwavering belief in the interconnectedness of all things…everywhere, and throughout time.