There is a breath of life in every corner of the studio.  A scatter of hand-made tools can be seen here and there, and one corner keeps blocks of tree stumps that seem to await the artist’s attention.

Rough, hardened hands through years of work and their knobby fingers draw out smooth, meaningful lines from the shapeless block of wood.

An occasional visitor sitting on a small chair nearby looks on, mesmerized by the skillful movements of the artist’s hands.

Well-tucked within the bustle of the heart of Los Angeles, the artist moves with silent concentration.  At last conscious of the visitor’s presence, he strikes up a conversation.  Then, he picks up a new tool and starts on a new line, while another visitor quietly sits down to watch.

The sun is already at the horizon.  The day seems too short for the artist, but he heads out of the studio thinking of tomorrow.  When the morning comes, he will head back to the studio with a new excitement.

Beneath the gray hair of the artist, his eyes are unforgettably deep, pure, and glitter with almost child-like gazes.