One of the questions I get asked the most at shows is, ‘how did you get started? What made you become a sculptor?’
I want to take this question as far back as possible in my life and to work my way forward. Hopefully along the way the question will get answered.
Going back to the beginning is difficult because memory is difficult. Damn the limits of this human body.
Like most kids my first work was probably an errant marker or pen that I found and jammed in my mouth creating a smeared inky line drawing on my face. What was my first sculpture though? It is tempting to think back to my older brothers Legos or the Lincoln Logs before that. It was earlier though. The first sculpture that I was a part of was, I think, the house my parents and grandparents were building when I was two to maybe five. I was a tiny pudgy kid with a broom trying to sweep up the dusty floor but in reality I was just using the broom for balance because I could barely walk.
Some kids grow up hearing their dad play the guitar or go to work every day in a suit and tie. I watched mine get up seven days a week and make progress on the biggest building project I could imagine and for lack of a babysitter I helped out as early as I could. It is important to note that this wasn't just a building my dad was making it was our home. It was the place that I grew up. The place the kept me warm in the harsh Vermont winters. Where I played, slept, laughed, cried, and healed. Like a sculpture a home is an intimate thing. Some of my oldest memories are of seeing my parents build my home.
So, from that first floor sweeping manipulating my environment and constructing things was not only a possibility but was encouraged. Next time- ‘Legos, clay, and my fascination with characters and story.’
Robert Michael Jones