Big-Eye

Big-Eye began with a single knot of wood that looked back at me. Not a perfect circle, not even symmetrical, just a dark, weathered hollow that felt unmistakably alert. I built the entire sculpture around that gaze.
For months, I had been collecting narrow planks and broken branches shaped by the surf into long, muscular lines. Laid flat, they were only driftwood, but once I tilted them on edge around that central knot, a fast, powerful hunter emerged. The body stretches in a clean, decisive sweep, as if the fish has just changed direction, locked on to something just beyond your peripheral vision.
I work by listening to what the material wants to do, and Big-Eye made its intentions clear. Some pieces insisted on overlapping, creating layered flanks that read almost like flexed muscle. Others belonged near the tail, where thinner, sharper lengths could suggest acceleration. I kept the composition lean and purposeful so that nothing slowed the sense of speed.
Seen across a room, Big-Eye feels like a moment of focus suspended in mid-stride. The pronounced eye anchors the entire piece, giving it a personality that is both wild and strangely familiar. Step closer, and the textures begin to speak: sun-bleached ridges, hairline fissures from winters on the beach, subtle shifts in tone where sand and salt left their mark.
Mounted on a wall, this sculpture brings a dramatic current of energy into a space without overwhelming it. It suits a study, a dining room, or a shoreline home that wants its marine art to carry real presence, not just a theme. Big-Eye is, at heart, a tribute to instinct-the split-second decision, the unwavering line of sight-and a reminder of the living power that still moves through the depths.