They Said Abigael Was a Witch
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"They Said Abigael Was a Witch," life-sized 30”x 35”x 23”, fired clay
Private collection: Tesuque, NM USA
I went to Finland with my family for a reunion with our distant relatives. Our Finnish guide, whose English was a bit sketchy, kept referring to one of our ancestors - an indigenous Sami woman - saying, “Abigael was a witch,” a fact I found very intriguing. My relatives, however, who are very religious, were far from entertained by that idea.
At one point I said to him, “Vote, we've been so enjoying hearing about our ancestors, but I have a question. In English, when you say the word, ‘witch’ it means something very specific - a person who follows a particular set of beliefs. Do you mean that, or do you mean that Abigael was a shaman, a medicine woman - a person who gathers plants and herbs to help heal others?” And he said, “Yes! That is what I mean!”
The interaction made me think about the way our descriptions or labels for someone can have immediate and dramatic impact on how others see them. She is textured with the story of Abigael and other stories or poems people have written about me.
The curled pattern of the words represent how the things people say, both positive and otherwise, weave around us often becoming part of our personal mythology.
A little story about Abigael's coming into being:
Lady Abigael challenged me from the beginning. I was working on her simultaneously with "Wordcage." Completing both life-sized figures when the clay started drying often felt like having to choose which child to save. Fortunately, I was able to complete them both.
When it came time for the finishing, I had selected a very clay-like color to go with the rest of the sculptures in the EPIC show. I'd done extensive tests to confirm the color's compatibility with the clay, but... when I applied it, Abigael turned pink with blotches that looked like diaper rash. Oh no! How could this happen? So, I decided to make her black, but when I applied that patina, she turned shiny and looked a bit like plastic. Oh no! How could that happen? Colin said, "Let's torch her." So we did. Outside, we set her on fire. Given the history of persecution of people following nature religions, the sight of her sitting contemplatively amongst the flames engulfing her made my breath catch in my throat. And the results were remarkable. The patina in the recesses of the words maintained a slight sheen while the black on the surface turned into this stunning satin sheen that replicated metal or another material. It felt as if Abigael knew she was different from the beginning and was refusing to look like the rest of the sculptures in the show. She just needed to keep pushing me until I figured it out too.
At one point I said to him, “Vote, we've been so enjoying hearing about our ancestors, but I have a question. In English, when you say the word, ‘witch’ it means something very specific - a person who follows a particular set of beliefs. Do you mean that, or do you mean that Abigael was a shaman, a medicine woman - a person who gathers plants and herbs to help heal others?” And he said, “Yes! That is what I mean!”
The interaction made me think about the way our descriptions or labels for someone can have immediate and dramatic impact on how others see them. She is textured with the story of Abigael and other stories or poems people have written about me.
The curled pattern of the words represent how the things people say, both positive and otherwise, weave around us often becoming part of our personal mythology.
A little story about Abigael's coming into being:
Lady Abigael challenged me from the beginning. I was working on her simultaneously with "Wordcage." Completing both life-sized figures when the clay started drying often felt like having to choose which child to save. Fortunately, I was able to complete them both.
When it came time for the finishing, I had selected a very clay-like color to go with the rest of the sculptures in the EPIC show. I'd done extensive tests to confirm the color's compatibility with the clay, but... when I applied it, Abigael turned pink with blotches that looked like diaper rash. Oh no! How could this happen? So, I decided to make her black, but when I applied that patina, she turned shiny and looked a bit like plastic. Oh no! How could that happen? Colin said, "Let's torch her." So we did. Outside, we set her on fire. Given the history of persecution of people following nature religions, the sight of her sitting contemplatively amongst the flames engulfing her made my breath catch in my throat. And the results were remarkable. The patina in the recesses of the words maintained a slight sheen while the black on the surface turned into this stunning satin sheen that replicated metal or another material. It felt as if Abigael knew she was different from the beginning and was refusing to look like the rest of the sculptures in the show. She just needed to keep pushing me until I figured it out too.