Sculpture is for me a second God. The same way a woman’s nude cannot lie when seen, touched, weighed by one’s mind and soul, sculpture cannot lie to one. Its tridimensional quality cannot conceal flaws behind accurate things and thus it is the mirror of truth itself.
The true artist is the Demiurge of the great world recreated into a smaller world, by equating the light and shade in a perfect balance, thereby bringing the space around within the actual work through the artistic act of creation. The works of sculpture are his minute messengers to the greater world.
By way of the philharmonic harmony of its forms and structures with their eternity of stone and bronze, the true spatial creation gives light to the blind, unties the tongues of the dumb and incites the ears of the deaf, reminding people of life’s triumph beyond biological time.
The virtues and the errors in art are like the good deeds and the sins in the life of the believer. One lives with them and, when one finally dies, they will stay proof of one’s short existence for time to come.
In sculpture as in religions, there is no eraser to wipe out mistakes. Therefore, one must use his mind before the action of one’s hands. The hands are but the executor of one’s will and spirit, they concretely order the chaos of ideas in space, matter, form and colour.