Creating my sandstone sculpture "Quarks threesome"

Usually, it doesn't begin with me sitting down at a table and saying, "Right, now I'm going to make a sculpture" — or even if I do sit at a table, that's not what I say. In fact, I rarely start a sculpture by sitting at a table; instead, I'm more likely to go out into my garden to search for a suitable stone — one that sparks inspiration.

I am often preoccupied with themes like galaxies, gravity, matter, antimatter, and subatomic particles — and the connections between them — which, taken together, constitute the Universe. It's as simple as this: "I am not searching for a form; I am searching for the statement that the form will eventually articulate on my behalf."

The beginning — setting aside the inherent beauty of the stone — is never "pretty." It is more of a quest, a process of uncovering the shape, form, and expression latent within the stone. I look for the movement, the tension, and the embodiment hidden inside it.

Often, the very moment I lay eyes on a stone, I can already see the sculpture — nearly complete. I can sense the weight of the material, the texture of its surface, and the way I will eventually reveal it all.

Inspiration does not come solely from within—from my own experiences — but also from the suggestions offered by the material itself. This, perhaps, is the most characteristic starting point on the journey toward creating a sculpture.

As my vision begins to clarify — and as the stone moves beyond merely hinting at what it holds, revealing it outright — I am no longer just searching for the form; I am refining and honing it. At this stage, the stone itself begins to speak to me! At such moments, the only question is whether the viewer, too, will sense or hear what the stone has revealed to me. It would be wonderful if the viewer were to become an observer — pausing before my sculpture and, for a fleeting moment, finding a sense of identification with it.

For me, every sculpture is a form of dialogue: a conversation between myself, the material, and those who will eventually encounter the work. Its meaning, therefore, is never defined solely by what I create; it also encompasses what the piece signifies to others — that is, whether I am able to become a medium for the stone. Perhaps this is why I love this process, with all its inherent uncertainties: because with every new sculpture, I come to understand the Universe a little better — and I hope my viewers do, too, alongside me.