Gambel’s Quail: Final Molting

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Here the big birdies are, as done as anyone will ever be able to tell. I may still have a few more obsessive hours of tweaking areas, but for all anyone else will ever know they were finished today at about 2pm!

…and now art geeks, my slavery is about to shift gears. Till now our little process could be labeled as “creative work”, but now we are about to embark upon the “work work” or even “slave labor” or even “carcinogenic exposure and hazard duty”. The mind-numbing joy that it has been to sculpt every feather, then erase them to adjust volume & gesture, then put the feathers back in, then move to the other bird and do things differently/better, then go back and redo the first job to match, and so on back and forth till they read as a pair: this wondrously rewarding work now gives way to mold making. Then wax chasing. Then the foundry will cast the birds and give me back a bunch of bronze bits. Then I weld them back together, then re-sculpt all the seam lines. But this ecstatic future can only occur if I pull a perfect mold.
Yes, the creative process is about to enter a stage of wondrous beauty and constant fulfillment of a kind that can only be appreciated by true aesthetes. The unimaginable bliss I feel every day, with only Cmonster as witness, is as a monk at Vespers in medieval times. As all oil painters know the bliss of sitting for hours in a poorly ventilated room, I too will soon have vapors of creative fume so thick that I will wear a gas mask, gloves, and a body suit: and what slips past my apparatus will be the stuff of dreams. and cancer. 

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