I like to work on a raw piece of stone that weighs around 80 pounds. This will give me a finished sculpture of 12 to 20 pounds.

Alabaster comes in many colors. My favorite is high quality, Italian translucent.

Alabaster is very unforgiving. It is a very soft stone compared to an Italian marble. You can actually remove most of the rough using only a standard carpenter's file. This material cannot be struck directly by a tool, as a bruise will go deep into the stone, and will show up as a white circle in an almost finished piece.

The boulders arrive in L.A. from Italy in a cargo container in every conceivable shape, as they were removed from their matrix by means of blasting or metal bars breaking them from their resting place. Imagine, looking at your future masterpiece, trying to find a shape in a rough piece of material that looks like it has gone through a war. The pointed tool that pried it from the mass leaves the material scarred and deeply bruised. All of these defects will have to be removed. Sometimes, because of these bruises, an intended planned piece will have to be changed to an entirely different sculpture.

I cut away unwanted mass with a hacksaw. After removing as much damaged material as possible, I slab the rest. This stone is really beautiful to behold. Placing it in the sun will produce a glow that is thrilling to see. Holding it up against the Sun will show where the blemishes are. These areas must be removed to get a perfectly finished sculpture.

Italian Alabaster is a wonderful stone to work, and can be shaped to knife thin edges without breaking the stone. Light passing through the stone brings out all of it's beauty. I remember visiting The L.A. exhibition of King Tut's treasures some years ago. Seeing the thinly carved oil lamps left an impression that is carried to this day. The soft light that leaves the lamp is an unforgetable experience.

Alabaster has veins which appears as cracks in the stone. Imagine, carving and filing over these cracks, reducing it thinner and thinner, not really knowing how thin you can go before an actual break occurs. My nerves are stretched to the limit at this time of development.

By this time I have the shape under control, and must now look to a sandpaper finish. There are no shortcuts with finish, and I learned the hard way. My first piece was in the final state. I had finished using very fine files. My next step was sandpaper. This stage of development is crucial to delivering an unblemished finished work of art. I started with 100, skipped through most of the rest, and eager to see a finished piece, went to 600 wet and dry. There it was, a finished piece. But wait, "What are all those scratches all over the surface?" There are no shortcuts.

Sanding is the dullest, most boring job that I have ever attempted. This is where patience comes into play. I would pay someone to do this job, but I can't find anyone. Not one step can be missed. Scraches from the previous application must be completely removed before moving to the next stage. I have found sandpaper scratches show up in an almost finished piece, and have to start the sandpaper process all over again. This is maddening.

No matter how hard I try to produce a perfect piece, there will always be a blemish, a spot or scratch, that I know about. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. No one else will see the defect, but I know it is there. Now I see the finished piece as my creation. It has faults, but so do I. The Letting go sydrome is hard to overcome, but has become easier with time. I now want my sculptures to be placed in someone's home to be loved and admired.