In my mind’s eye, every object I create perches at the edge of “normal.” While existing in the tangible, finite present, my art stands poised to seek the ineffable: experience that can’t be put into words. The search may involve encounters with the sublime, meditations upon emptiness, or prayers for transcendence. Some pieces resemble diminutive buildings, tabernacles that amplify nature and contemplate our place within it. I also reimagine ritual artifacts, many of which are vessels. Pitcher, urn, or cup, they frame the substance of this world as well as channeling thought to whatever lies beyond.
I constantly reconfigure symbols associated with ancient myths and sacred lore. These “stories” often reflect my own cultural profile—ethnically Italian, Roman Catholic by upbringing, and deeply drawn to Judaism—although other traditions, both Eastern and Western, have left their imprint. So, too, has a lifelong scavenger hunt through nature. Twigs, feathers, seedpods all catch my eye on walks. My fingers trace every mark of growth and decay that might spark the genesis of a design.
Such finds either retain their original form within a finished composition or mutate, like images glimpsed in a cloud. Fascination with birds and their long history as symbols—of mortal cycles, of divine messengers, of aspiration—inspires metaphors central to my work. The trees where birds roost and take flight anchor me. I take comfort in recalling how root, trunk, branch, and leaf have synthesized soil, air, and water into the Tree of Life, the Axis Mundi, the Bodhi tree, the Cross.
Infusing elusive concepts into solid matter relies on craftsmanship to articulate intellectual and emotional themes. When I lack the technical skill to realize a particular idea, my designs embrace the expertise of other hands, whether casting metal, firing clay, or blowing glass. Such collaborations reveal multiple perspectives, widening the scope of my visual
language. Bring a group of my objects together, and that common language enables them to converse.
Sometimes I leave a tale incomplete so that viewers can engage with the narrative imaginatively (filling in missing details, characters, and events) or through physical touch (grasping movable components, pouring liquid into a container, lighting a wick). The repetition of personal rituals unfolds meaning layer by layer. At any moment “nothing” can evoke a potent “something,” an intimate epiphany.
Regardless of ideological origins, every piece shown here embodies universal themes: birth and rebirth. References to a mandala, a Seder cup, or a cross, for example, raise questions that the myths of many cultures pose, questions that echo through our spiritual lives today: What existed before what is? What has yet to come? —S.L.
In my mind’s eye, every object I create perches at the edge of “normal.” While existing in the tangible, finite present, my art stands poised to seek the ineffable: experience that can’t be put into words. The search may involve encounters with the sublime, meditations upon emptiness, or prayers for transcendence. Some pieces resemble diminutive buildings, tabernacles that amplify nature and contemplate our place within it. I also reimagine ritual artifacts, many of which are vessels. Pitcher, urn, or cup, they frame the substance of this world as well as channeling thought to whatever lies beyond.
I constantly reconfigure symbols associated with ancient myths and sacred lore. These “stories” often reflect my own cultural profile—ethnically Italian, Roman Catholic by upbringing, and deeply drawn to Judaism—although other traditions, both Eastern and Western, have left their imprint. So, too, has a lifelong scavenger hunt through nature. Twigs, feathers, seedpods all catch my eye on walks. My fingers trace every mark of growth and decay that might spark the genesis of a design.
Such finds either retain their original form within a finished composition or mutate, like images glimpsed in a cloud. Fascination with birds and their long history as symbols—of mortal cycles, of divine messengers, of aspiration—inspires metaphors central to my work. The trees where birds roost and take flight anchor me. I take comfort in recalling how root, trunk, branch, and leaf have synthesized soil, air, and water into the Tree of Life, the Axis Mundi, the Bodhi tree, the Cross.
Infusing elusive concepts into solid matter relies on craftsmanship to articulate intellectual and emotional themes. When I lack the technical skill to realize a particular idea, my designs embrace the expertise of other hands, whether casting metal, firing clay, or blowing glass. Such collaborations reveal multiple perspectives, widening the scope of my visual language. Bring a group of my objects together, and that common language enables them to converse.
Sometimes I leave a tale incomplete so that viewers can engage with the narrative imaginatively (filling in missing details, characters, and events) or through physical touch (grasping movable components, pouring liquid into a container, lighting a wick). The repetition of personal rituals unfolds meaning layer by layer. At any moment “nothing” can evoke a potent “something,” an intimate epiphany.
Regardless of ideological origins, every piece shown here embodies universal themes: birth and rebirth. References to a mandala, a Seder cup, or a cross, for example, raise questions that the myths of many cultures pose, questions that echo through our spiritual lives today: What existed before what is? What has yet to come? —S.L.
In my mind’s eye, every object I create perches at the edge of “normal.” While existing in the tangible, finite present, my art stands poised to seek the ineffable: experience that can’t be put into words. The search may involve encounters with the sublime, meditations upon emptiness, or prayers for transcendence. Some pieces resemble diminutive buildings, tabernacles that amplify nature and contemplate our place within it. I also reimagine ritual artifacts, many of which are vessels. Pitcher, urn, or cup, they frame the substance of this world as well as channeling thought to whatever lies beyond.
I constantly reconfigure symbols associated with ancient myths and sacred lore. These “stories” often reflect my own cultural profile—ethnically Italian, Roman Catholic by upbringing, and deeply drawn to Judaism—although other traditions, both Eastern and Western, have left their imprint. So, too, has a lifelong scavenger hunt through nature. Twigs, feathers, seedpods all catch my eye on walks. My fingers trace every mark of growth and decay that might spark the genesis of a design.
Such finds either retain their original form within a finished composition or mutate, like images glimpsed in a cloud. Fascination with birds and their long history as symbols—of mortal cycles, of divine messengers, of aspiration—inspires metaphors central to my work. The trees where birds roost and take flight anchor me. I take comfort in recalling how root, trunk, branch, and leaf have synthesized soil, air, and water into the Tree of Life, the Axis Mundi, the Bodhi tree, the Cross.
Infusing elusive concepts into solid matter relies on craftsmanship to articulate intellectual and emotional themes. When I lack the technical skill to realize a particular idea, my designs embrace the expertise of other hands, whether casting metal, firing clay, or blowing glass. Such collaborations reveal multiple perspectives, widening the scope of my visual language. Bring a group of my objects together, and that common language enables them to converse.
Sometimes I leave a tale incomplete so that viewers can engage with the narrative imaginatively (filling in missing details, characters, and events) or through physical touch (grasping movable components, pouring liquid into a container, lighting a wick). The repetition of personal rituals unfolds meaning layer by layer. At any moment “nothing” can evoke a potent “something,” an intimate epiphany.
Regardless of ideological origins, every piece shown here embodies universal themes: birth and rebirth. References to a mandala, a Seder cup, or a cross, for example, raise questions that the myths of many cultures pose, questions that echo through our spiritual lives today: What existed before what is? What has yet to come? —S.L.
In my mind’s eye, every object I create perches at the edge of “normal.” While existing in the tangible, finite present, my art stands poised to seek the ineffable: experience that can’t be put into words. The search may involve encounters with the sublime, meditations upon emptiness, or prayers for transcendence. Some pieces resemble diminutive buildings, tabernacles that amplify nature and contemplate our place within it. I also reimagine ritual artifacts, many of which are vessels. Pitcher, urn, or cup, they frame the substance of this world as well as channeling thought to whatever lies beyond.
I constantly reconfigure symbols associated with ancient myths and sacred lore. These “stories” often reflect my own cultural profile—ethnically Italian, Roman Catholic by upbringing, and deeply drawn to Judaism—although other traditions, both Eastern and Western, have left their imprint. So, too, has a lifelong scavenger hunt through nature. Twigs, feathers, seedpods all catch my eye on walks. My fingers trace every mark of growth and decay that might spark the genesis of a design.
Such finds either retain their original form within a finished composition or mutate, like images glimpsed in a cloud. Fascination with birds and their long history as symbols—of mortal cycles, of divine messengers, of aspiration—inspires metaphors central to my work. The trees where birds roost and take flight anchor me. I take comfort in recalling how root, trunk, branch, and leaf have synthesized soil, air, and water into the Tree of Life, the Axis Mundi, the Bodhi tree, the Cross.
Infusing elusive concepts into solid matter relies on craftsmanship to articulate intellectual and emotional themes. When I lack the technical skill to realize a particular idea, my designs embrace the expertise of other hands, whether casting metal, firing clay, or blowing glass. Such collaborations reveal multiple perspectives, widening the scope of my visual language. Bring a group of my objects together, and that common language enables them to converse.
Sometimes I leave a tale incomplete so that viewers can engage with the narrative imaginatively (filling in missing details, characters, and events) or through physical touch (grasping movable components, pouring liquid into a container, lighting a wick). The repetition of personal rituals unfolds meaning layer by layer. At any moment “nothing” can evoke a potent “something,” an intimate epiphany.
Regardless of ideological origins, every piece shown here embodies universal themes: birth and rebirth. References to a mandala, a Seder cup, or a cross, for example, raise questions that the myths of many cultures pose, questions that echo through our spiritual lives today: What existed before what is? What has yet to come? —S.L.