So here's a picture of George, doing his thing in the foundry. He loved sculpture for the process, not the end result. I never appreciated the work that goes into creating a bronze piece until I began watching him at each step of the way. Sundays were when we spent most of our time together. In the years up until his death this summer, we would spend hours in the afternoon, barely talking and focusing on art, all while listening to NPR or a Puccini CD. There he was with his constantly lit cigarrette, hammering bronze, creating wax tubing, yelling at the clay, or watching me paint.
Here's a photo of him leaning over the crucible, heated to around 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.
But don't think we didn't talk. We usually got plenty of jabbering out of the way over coffee, before deciding to not let the afternoon go to waste.