BLACK LADY 

Wood that tells a story: The art of carving as a combination of nature and man

Early in the morning, when the sun spills golden light on the leaves of the trees and the forest seems to whisper something to the wind, I enter my studio. It smells of resin, dust and something almost mystical - as if the wood that rests here is still alive. In the corner stands a piece of black oak. Old, with numerous cracks, at first glance inconspicuous. But I know that inside it lies a story waiting to see the light of day. Wood always tells a story. You just have to know how to listen.

A life written in jars

Every piece of wood that comes into my hands is more than a material. It is a witness to time. When I look at the grain, I see years of growth - some abundant, others sparse, marked by difficulties. It's like reading a biography, except that it's described not in words, but in lines and spaces.

Carving is a dialogue. The wooden blocks I've found in abandoned meadows or forgotten forests seem to call out. Sometimes one look is enough to know what they want to say. A piece of poplar that was once part of an old mill speaks of human labor, wind and time. A pine tree that came from a coastal forest smells of salty air and hums a story about storms. Before I touch the chisel to the surface, I ask questions: “Who were you before you got here? What do you want to convey now?”

The combination of hand and wood

Carving is like meditation. When my chisel enters the wood, I hear the gentle creak of the tool and feel the resistance of the material. In those moments there is no me - there is only the wood, the chisel and something invisible guiding me. I believe that I do not shape the wood, but the wood guides me.

In my workshop is a rack of tools, each of which bears the marks of years of use. My favorite chisel, whose handle has already slipped from sweat and work, was once owned by an old master carpenter like my grandfather. When I hold it, I feel a sense of continuity - as if the energy of his hand still lingers somewhere in it. Working with wood reminds me that I am part of a greater whole - a tradition, a cycle of nature, a world that lasts longer than our lives.

Sculpture as story

In my studio stands a sculpture of a woman, emerging from a piece of black oak. It took me a long time to create it. Not because it was difficult - technically, it was a simple work. But the wood needed time to speak. Sometimes carving requires pausing, reflecting, and even stepping back to hear the voice of the material.

Each of my sculptures carries not only wood, but also something of the place from which it comes. A willow tree from the river tells of water and birds. An apple tree from an old orchard speaks of fruit, the smell of flowering trees. Every form I bring out is a record of that memory. It's like writing a book, where each chiseling is another letter.

Bridge between man and nature

Wood is unique because it comes from nature, but passes through the hands of man. It is a bridge between what is wild and primordial and what we create. When I carve, I feel that I am not only bringing out shapes, but also restoring harmony between us and the natural world. In a world full of plastic and concrete, wood is a breath - something authentic that connects us to the earth.

The Last Story

Once a young boy visited my studio. He asked about the meaning of my carvings, and why I was working with wood at all. I showed him a piece of old pine from which I was carving a bird. “It's just wood,” he said. But when I finished, in his hands was a bird that looked as if it could take to the air. Then he looked at me with new understanding.

“Wood is more than a material,” I said. “It is a story. Yours, mine, of the world that was here before us and will be after us.” That day the boy took the bird home. And I knew that the story of wood continues - because every sculpture lives on in the hands of those who can listen to it.

Wood tells stories. And we sculptors are just the ones who discover them. Each piece carries its past, present and future. All it takes is a chisel, time and quiet conversation for it to reveal its secrets.