the blue hour wish-sculpture

(Milkweed, photographed 3 dimensional One of a kind polymer fantasy art sculpture 4.5", with real milkweed seed. Photoshopped fairy lights")

~The milkweed seed is a legendary carrier of wishes and dreams, as is twilight, the hour when the world is blue, a time of magic.

This contest piece speaks of my dream to turn childhood fantasy into
reality.... in my youth I always looked for the beings, faces, imaginings, that flickered in my peripheral vision, just out of reach... I spent hours in the woods exploring minute details of earth, plant scents, fungi, insects, textures and sounds, but could never quite capture their essence in my sketchbook.. I am still trying now actually. I've only been sculpting for just under 4 years, but my dream is to replicate the fantastic images of my childhood into tangible, 3 dimensional characters, that I can share with others. I also dream of creating a stop motion film with these characters so that they can really come to life, as well as children's books, my college major. ~ I would love to be able to bring a bit of faerie into the imaginations of the next generation of children,(and adults) in a different way than these barbie like fairy dolls and disney princess films that kids are bombarded with these days. I have a progressive disorder that is slowly affecting the use of my fine motor skills, so my dream is held precious, as I do not know how much time I have to make it possible....maybe a year, or twenty, it's the not knowing that makes me work at it . Now for a milkweed poem..... Don't forget to catch one, make a wish and send it away.. don't tell!



~Milkweed by Philip Levine

Remember how unimportant
they seemed, growing loosely
in the open fields we crossed
on the way to school. We
would carve wooden swords
and slash at the luscious trunks
until the white milk started
and then flowed. Then we'd
go on to the long day
after day of the History of History
or the tables of numbers and order
as the clock slowly paid
out the moments. The windows
went dark first with rain
and then snow, and then the days,
then the years ran together and not
one mattered more than
another, and not one mattered.

Two days ago I walked
the empty woods, bent over,
crunching through oak leaves,
asking myself questions
without answers. From somewhere
a froth of seeds drifted by touched
with gold in the last light
of a lost day, going with
the wind as they always did.