Rosy Lamb


Years disappeared in a muddy struggle making some of these half broken relics. They remind me of other moments in time, friends from the past. They settle in with me each day and placidly reflect the day’s light, mostly ignorant of my changing thoughts and moods. Whatever pains I had in making them are now forgotten and forgiven. As time goes by, a member of the group leaves home, an ostentatious emptiness points to their vacated spot until my eyes adjust to the new configuration. From time to time I deposit a new sculptures into the crowd. They soon comfortably fit themselves in alongside the others.

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