“A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.” Diane Arbus-

Decades later someone recreates music album covers by matching them with the original scene. What is the impetus that requires we search beyond the boundaries to discover real, as opposed to imagined, meaning – the neighborhood in disarray never previously glimpsed – our attention drawn to the posing girl with the happy smile? Who would recognize the torn and hanging screens, laundry on the bannister, cigarette butts and empty bottles? Even now these objects remain secrets, the years hiding them carefully away.

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” Roald Dahl

Behind the house the bicycle path I followed was known only to me. Eyes blindfolded by looking saw only grass mashed but alive, blue stone, pretty weeds with purples leaves and flowers saved from the sun by the high oaks watching silently, taking notes on the secrets I would never share. The migratory birds who followed their own secret paths were too high to care.

No one ever keeps a secret so well as a child. Victor Hugo

At night they, the secrets – come out to play, dressed as if for Sunday dinner, heralding one another and telling the stories that are kept from the day (but not from the trees, those old sentinels). I pretend not to attend to their noise, having better things to do like watch the closet door to make sure it stays shut and check under my bed for things that scuttle and rustle. It’s just the wind, Mom says, ruffling the curtains. But then she goes away and I know that she has her own secrets too.

Sculpture isn’t always taking away. With clay, you’re always adding to in order to find that thing a carver would find hidden. Energy needs hands willing to shape it. It’s a secret open to anyone who will receive it.