Spoons

  • handcrafted chip-carved birch wooden spoon
  • hand-crafted ashram wooden Spoon

Split from a log, roughly shaped with an ax, hand finished with a knife, these wooden spoons are crafted one at a time following a tradition that goes back hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

Shrinkpots

  • Detain, shrinkbox with Snowy owl

A shrinkpot (or shrinkbox) is made out of fresh, green wood. The core of a branch or a log is hollowed out and a groove cut along the bottom edge. A dry piece of wood is shaped to fit for the bottom of the box and placed in this groove. As the cylinder of wood dries it shrinks around the dry wood base, forming a tight seal. Once dry, the box is then decorated and perhaps a lid is made to fit.

Sculpture

  • Detail, Wooden Figurative Sculpture of Elm and birch. With old subway tokens for eyes.
  • Whisper. Wooden mask and bird telling stories. Dyslexia series.
  • detail, wood carving

On occasion, I have a thought or image in my mind, an image that will not go away, and there is a compelling need to work that thought out. These tend to gestate, and they take a long time to make.

Often driven by shape or form that is somehow evocative emotionally or vaguely reminiscent of something from long ago, it gets me in its clutches, and it won’t let go. Sometimes it sits quietly in the corner amid the shop detritus, but I am unable to relegate it to the trash or recycle it into something new. It waits patiently until its time is right, then screams at me to be worked on again.

So here is a category for all the things I can’t categorize, the unresolved emotions, old memory fragments, the scary bits, the ideas that resurface.

On occasion, I have a thought or image in my mind, an image that will not go away, and there is a compelling need to work that thought out. These tend to gestate, and they take a long time to make.

Often driven by shape or form that is somehow evocative emotionally or vaguely reminiscent of something from long ago, it gets me in its clutches, and it won’t let go. Sometimes it sits quietly in the corner amid the shop detritus, but I am unable to relegate it to the trash or recycle it into something new. It waits patiently until its time is right, then screams at me to be worked on again.

So here is a category for all the things I can’t categorize, the unresolved emotions, old memory fragments, the scary bits, the ideas that resurface.

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