Richard Collins, Sculptor

Statue E2 - "Twins" - Man and Pregnant Woman

The statue is made of limestone, either Texas Leuders, or Indiana Gray. The stone is relatively soft, which is part of the reason I used such heavy bodies for the figures. I want it to last a lifetime.

The name, "Twins", is my interpretation of what is going on. The mother is huge, beyond her normal size, and beyond what one would expect from a single child. Also, the parents are "twins" in the close relationship they must have as they face having children.

The most polished areas of the statue are the mother's stomach and breast, and her face. I am trying to draw attention to the most significant parts of the tableau.

The lower parts of the statue are the roughest. I was thinking about the vicissitudes of life - the wear and tear of life on a couple as they face raising children together. Life leaves scars on each partner in a marriage. The mark on the mother's right arm is a private scar or event in her life. A special mark.

The father is overshadowed in the relationship - we see the mother and child primarily, and often forget the father who supports and encourages, who protects and sustains.

The right hands are just touching. I left the exact shape and orientation of the hands vague - I want you to think about the various ways that two people can touch each other that way. And to think about the emotions and feelings each person must have as they reach out to each other. The mother is sure of where his hand must be. He does not have to look to know where her hand is. The left hands are each touching the unborn child (children). This is the central focus of the statue - the unborn.

The mother's breasts are large. The twins are just about to be born. The mother's body is ready for them to be born. Also, the breasts and stomach are deliberately emphasized - as in some primative totems and fetishes.

The parents are clothed. This is the state they present to the world. This is the public, yet intimate, face they show to the world. Birth is a public/community affair - friends, relatives, and strangers are all involved in the birth of a child.

The mother's face is smooth - radiant, while the father's face is rough and worn. I think that fathers have a private face which cares deeply about mother and children. There is a lot of suffering and private pain in a father's role in a marriage.

The alternate title for the piece is "E2". This is the second in a series which I am tentatively calling "evocative". I am trying to capture the sum total of millions of times when couples are in essentially this exact pose. The statue is supposed to evoke specific feelings and emotions. Courage, determination, love/caring, fear/trepidation, solidity, frission. When you take thousands of photos of couples in this pose, many things blur - are vague, inexact, indicative rather than precise, hinting rather than explicit - that is the source of these figures. The mother's body predominates, and the position and feeling of the father supports.

The statue is intended to be touched. Close your eyes and let your hands/fingers touch the figures. When I am carving, it is this invisible/sightless feeling I am trying to capture/convey. Over time the statue will absorb oils, and a bit of dirt, from the hands that touch it. This living patina will add value and meaning to the statue. If you want to dust the statue, use a clean paint brush to brush away dust. To remove inadvertant stains, use soapy water and rinse thoroughly. You can take it outside and wash it with soapy water, then rinse with a hose. Try not to remove the oils that hands have left. If someone spills something on it, washing will not hurt it. Just do not rub so hard it wears away the surface.

Since this is intended for a family expecting a child, or just born, I expect the children to touch and interact with the statue over their whole life. If it gets crayon on it, just leave it. Those memories will be valuable later on when the child is grown. The statue should last several lifetimes with care.

Richard Collins. Feb/March 2010