The tree had fallen, there was no sign of conflict no sign of struggle, just the roots separated from the ground as though it somehow knew it did not exclusively belong to this earth.
It looked at me from eyes tangled deep within the quiet of its husk.
Its soul was beginning to wander and the bird who knew this tree became a witness to its death.
(in-between the silence and the grave)
Secrets grounded into shadows and my desire for you still feels like sandpaper upon my tongue, ____ vampires in my soul.
(Sorrow is not translatable)
So, you said you wanted me to write you a poem, it’s harder than I thought it would be.
Sometimes I feel like that fallen tree.
The birds came they had no messages only feathers, eyes and mythology.
The Raven lingered above the dying wood starring into the void as I wrote this poem.
Sometimes things end as they should ____ this is my poem for you.
I have never experienced sculpture and poetry as separate disciplines.They are two expressions of the same act of attention.
My sculptures begin as observations of the human condition, not as it is performed, but as it is lived. The quiet lean of one body toward another. The tension between longing and restraint. The moment where love steadies us or undoes us. I am less interested in spectacle than in recognition: the instant when someone sees themselves inside a form and feels understood without explanation.
Sculpture, for me, is a language of the body.Poetry is the same language, spoken inward.
When I sculpt, I am listening with my hands. Bronze carries memory. It holds weight, resistance, gravity, just as we do. The human figure becomes a site of inquiry: how we endure, how we reach, how we protect ourselves, how we surrender. The surface matters, but what lives beneath the surface matters more. What is unspoken. What is held.
My poetry often arrives after the sculpture, as if the work has loosened something that needs words. Other times, the poem comes first, a line, an image, a truth that insists on being felt before it can be seen. In those moments, the sculpture follows the poem like a body following breath. Each informs the other. Each sharpens the question.
There is a conversation constantly unfolding between these two forms.The sculpture teaches the poem about silence.The poem teaches the sculpture about vulnerability.
I think of my work, whether cast in bronze or written in lines, as acts of witnessing. To love is to witness. To create is to witness. To stand still long enough for the moment to speak.
I am drawn to themes of devotion, resilience, sensuality, and the unguarded spaces between people. The human condition is not abstract to me, it is intimate. It lives in posture, in proximity, in the way two figures can hold an entire history without narrative. My figures are often grounded, rooted to the earth, because love is not an idea, it is something we carry in our bodies.
Over time, I have come to understand that my sculptures are poems that refuse to speak, and my poems are sculptures that refuse to stand still. They exist in a shared field of meaning, each one asking the same essential questions:
How do we live inside love?How do we survive longing?What does it mean to remain open in a world that asks us to close?
The image accompanying this piece captures me as I am most often found, observing, listening, inhabiting the space between thought and form. It is there, in that in-between, where my work lives.
Art, for me, is not about answers.It is about staying with the questionand allowing it to take shape.
Gesso CocteauSculptor & Poet
In the language of clay, love is never still,it keeps forming us, endlessly, into Forever.
Forever
(for the Viking)
In the beginning, there was only clay and breath,the quiet surrender between two forms learning how to be one.Every curve, every reach, remembers touch,not the touch that ends, but the kind that begins againeach time one heart leans toward another.
I call this Forever because it carries the weight of love that has no edge,no border between body and spirit, giver and receiver.It is the moment before bronze,when the pulse of creation is still visible,alive beneath the fingertips that shaped it.
Here, they stand,not as man and woman, not even as figures,but as the echo of devotion itself.A reminder that love is never still;it keeps forming us, over and over,until we recognize ourselvesin the arms of another.
— Gesso Cocteau
This is Forever in the foundry completed in clay and before the mold is made. I will post the piece when it is completed in Bronze.
