By my senior year in high school they ran out of art classes for me to take. Weird, I know, but it was a very small, rural school. I was allowed to make up my own class, Advanced Art, and I was given free rein to explore whatever type of media I wished (I even was able to grade myself – guess who got A’s?).

My photography class was down a distant hallway which held all of the industrial arts classes. Not many girls went down this hall except for me. I was always curious about the woodworking shop so I persuaded the instructor to let me do a sculpting project for art class (I think he was happy to see a girl in his class). After showing him my sketches, he hooked me up with a gorgeous hunk of wood and handed me some chistels and a small ax. The grain fit the piece so beautifully I torched it (very scary) and used a wire brush to bring out the beautiful pattern.

Well, here is my sculpture from 18 years ago. Recently rescued from my mom’s house and a little banged up. It’s the only piece of art I’ve decided to hang on to from my youth. I think it’s kind of cool.