Tennessee Pink marble, wood
In the beginning, there was another imagined bird. It was a small clay sketch, endearing for its simplicity and slightly droopy appearance. Unfortunately, I fired it at a temperature it couldn’t handle and it melted into a puddle at the bottom of the kiln.
To bring it back from its amorphous death, to reclaim it from the jaws of entropy, I conjured a new imagined bird, carved in stone.
I recreated it from memory, hoping, like in Borges’s “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote”, to arrive at the same result through a different process.
In the end, this new imagined bird is different. A more refined presence, it perches confidently on its wooden base, as if it has forgotten that it’s only an avatar of an almost forgotten, primordial bird.