Social Sector
Mission: The Work of the Artist and the Dreamer
Shards of gray poured like snow from the mound of clay. My
dad always sculpted with a squinty eye and a cigarette dangling
from the left of his lips.
In his sculptures, he brought forth life and purpose. My dad’s
creations always seemed to be born out of a mixture of passionate
determination, a longing for beauty and a secret inner
violence. His sculpting tools were more than artist’s instruments;
they were weapons of warfare, tools that willed his creations
into being ...
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