Stone carving started for me with the love and mentorship of Carole Babcock on a lake in Oregon. Carole and her husband Mike were cornerstones to my life. Mike was the reason my parents met, my dad’s high school geometry teacher, mentor and dear friend. Carole is the reason I know the love of my grandmother who was her friend and fellow artist in dancing and clothing. Carole became my grandmother in spirit, taking me on as a student in college and sculpting me with her gentle instruction, wordless love and insight into my budding agency.

Carole and I sculpted in a barn on a lake in Florence, Oregon, and this is where I still sculpt. Sculpting in that dusty barn with her tools, the old crackling silver radio and my own grandmother’s apron feels like I can access a higher, wiser plane— as if Carole, Joan and I are bending and turning around the stone together, enjoying the depth of movement, muscle and experience in unison. Sculpting is loud, gritty and muscular, but when we inherit a love along with our pursuit, that labor becomes a labor of love.