Is there a story behind this particular craft sculpture, or is it purely abstract in design?

That’s a beautiful question, and it’s one I hear often when people first encounter this piece. To be honest, the answer isn’t a simple either/or—it’s more of a quiet dance between story and abstraction.

When I started working on this sculpture, I didn’t have a clear narrative in mind. I wasn’t trying to carve a recognizable figure or a specific scene. Instead, I was responding to the raw stone itself—its weight, its grain, the way light fell across its surface. In that sense, it began as pure abstraction: an exploration of form, balance, and texture.

But here’s the thing: as my hands shaped the curves and planes, a story began to emerge of its own accord. I found myself thinking of a memory from my childhood—watching waves slowly smooth a jagged piece of sea glass. That rhythm of relentless, gentle transformation became embedded in the piece. The undulating lines you see? They capture that back-and-forth of water against shore. The hollow at the center? It holds the echo of a single, unspoken goodbye I once carried for years.

So is there a specific, literal story? No, not one you can read like a book. But is the piece completely abstract? Also no. It’s an abstract vessel for a very real, very human feeling. I left it open on purpose—so that when you look at it, you might find your own story whispered back at you. The craft is in the stone; the meaning is in the moment we share.