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I cannot look at a tree anymore without seeing women. My Woodswoman sculptures are

my Earth poems. They are of the earth and from the earth: Nature is my inspiration.

She is the best artist around.


Woodswomen Series

 

see larger images from the source album


I feel strongly about our disregard for the Earth, damaging her, filling her with objects made with obsolescence in mind.

I love rescuing beautiful objects consumed for a time, then recklessly thrown away.  Wood, stone, bone, and shell speak

to my heart and spirit.  Using animal bones is my way of honoring their life, their being, their beauty and death.

 

The recycling of found materials too connects my work both to the past and the future.  My art is my diary or journal,

my personal memories of strangers.  The rusty brake drums, the odd gears and springs – these Cargo Cult-like objects

whose original function, so precise, so ordered, is now unknown – they too honor history; they honor the worker

and join in the larger mystery of existence on this Earth.  

 

Artifacts are our true history.  Old bricks are dwellings.  Broken china is a meal.  From roadsides, beaches, paths, and dumps

I rescue heads, necks, breasts, etc. in metal, ceramic, and stone. 

 

It’s all about learning to see, not look, to behold and not possess. 


email Scarlet

 


In stillness she was Catalpa, in movement like clouds, like water.


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