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STONES
In the late 1980’s my career
was beginning to blossom. I do not intend to be arrogant in stating this.
It was a sort of unexpected thing because I had surrendered to never making it
as an artist and to simply allow my professorial salary to support my passion
for creating paintings and sculptures.
In the summer of 1986, the C. G
Rien Galleries gave me my first big break in Santa Fe, followed by Frank Howell
and his galleries there. By 1989, I was able to leave the university and
devote full time to sculpting and painting. Earlier, and for a very brief
time, I made clay bases fired into stoneware and used these to mount my bronzes.
Then one day a revelation came, and I ceased this. God said, “Worrell, you
make bronzes. I have created the stones.” I listened and our
partnership has worked wonderfully well.
For several years some of my
rancher friends and neighbors have allowed me to procure stones from their
properties. I selected stones lying about in the fields. Not one
time did I take a stone from an old rock fence -- not until I purchased the
ranch next door to my Texas studio.
Whether it is accurate or not I do not know,
but Mason County, Texas, home of OLD YELLER, is purported to have more miles of
stone fences than any other Texas county. These fences were constructed at the
rate of about ten feet per day. On my property it is far too rough for those
early German settlers to have used wagons or carts to access all of the places
where these fences are situated, so much of the construction was accomplished by
hard human labor. It must have been backbreaking labor from the size of some of
the stones.
The rocks on what is now my property are
mostly gneiss and granite, with occasional stones of schist and quartzite. Not
all are suitable for sculpture bases and some are splendid. Selecting the
splendid stones is a thoughtful process. My driveway is lined with a stone
fence that I myself constructed. I built it out of rejects.
I began using stones from fences on my place
due to considerations of romance and awe. There is a spellbinding link with the
past in using them, and if I sculpted for another hundred years I would not
consume them all. I can imagine some hot, sweating, and perhaps even begrudging
team of father and brothers finding, lugging, and stacking these stones, many
with incredible dry rock beauty, without the slightest prophetic premonition
that one hundred and thirty, forty, or fifty years later they might wind up
anywhere in the world adorning my bronzes.
Worrell, 10/19 /07 – 4:25 p. m., Ranch Road
152 west of Castell.
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