I discovered the art of sculpture in 2008 after meeting Tanya Ragir, renowned for her beautiful renditions of the female form. I hired her to sculpt my torso, and as I watched her transform a large block of clay into the unmistakable shape of my own body, curiosity got the better of me—I had to try sculpting myself. My first attempt was mostly torture, punctuated by a few moments of fun, but I was proud of the result (see Bronze-Colored Woman on a Stool). That was enough to hook me.

I went on to sculpt cow femur bones in exacting detail, becoming completely absorbed in the challenge of copying an object rich in texture—every nook and cranny accounted for. Those three bone sculptures remain favorites of mine to this day. Then life, as it tends to do, intervened. I moved countries, explored other paths, and recreated my life. In 2019, I began a new chapter in Florence, Italy, where I found myself surrounded by mind-blowing sculptures at every turn. There, Raffaello Romanelli—a sixth-generation member of the famed Tuscan sculpting family—became my deeply respected and beloved teacher for several years. In his intimate studio, tucked inside a historic palazzo filled with generations of his family’s work, I learned to copy masterpieces while uncompromisingly striving for perfection. My eye was trained to see every subtle detail, a skill that built naturally on my earlier work with bones.

What once felt difficult slowly became deeply satisfying. I fell in love with the process of building a form one handful of clay at a time, until shape and proportion finally aligned. The real fun begins when I reach the details. Sculpting is a spiritual experience for me—the scent of wet clay, the earthy texture between my fingers, the color, the rhythm of the process. It is sensual, grounding, and something I appreciate anew with every project. My most challenging piece was White Woman with Mask, through which I entered an entirely new level of understanding. This year, I created only one small sculpture, but it marked a first: I sculpted a human face without any reference at all. Almost with my eyes closed, my fingers found the structure on their own. The result was a man with closed eyes, gazing upward in a dreamlike state. What made this piece remarkable were two things—months later, I randomly met a man with an almost identical face, and I chose to cast the sculpture as my first bronze. A milestone well worth celebrating.