They say dryads are born with their trees —
spirit and trunk, one breath, one life.
Her life tied to its roots and rings.

Oaks and poplars, ash and laurel —
each one holding something sacred —
a stillness that listens, and a whisper that answers.

These sculptures began as quiet walks through the woods.
I find pieces half-buried, softened by time —
as if they’ve been waiting to be seen.
I do not carve the forms I find — I listen.
To the hush of their grain, the lean of their shape.
And in clay, I begin to shape what’s already there —
a spirit revealing itself.

Each sculpture is a meeting point
between what was found
and what has always been.

For those who still listen to the quiet things —
You may find one has been waiting for you, all this time.