Large sculptures find their way eventually into parks, art centers and private collections,etc. They are the result of a lifelong obsession with the claiming, re-claiming and accumulating of impossible discarded material. The Art begins with that first unlikely action...the one where I somehow get the stuff back to my boneyard. Composition, assembly, manipulation, fabrication and fastening - my entangleings with it all - occur quite spontaneously, driven by what is at hand (in the pile). I know the thing is done when the pull of the next one has usurped my attention. I work alone on these , no matter how ungainly. Another set of dirty hands would only try to make decisions, no matter who the boss is. And its never Art when two consciousnesses get involved. Compromise occurs...turns it into a "job".
But this matter I am matched against daily exacts a fee, paid in flesh and blood. So there are, fortunately, other art forms (painting, poetry, music) to be gleaned of their illumination down the road. But for now, I am a sore loser, determined to wreck every deteriorating ball joint rattling inside me in hopes of rendering undeniable that which was once just junk.
The manipulation, assembly and constant composition of glorious junk (experiences) has much to do with the Art of our hero Buk. His boneyard was as lavish with discard as mine, and as yielding of pertinence as I've ever seen...and he kept it all packed in his brain. Amazing.