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Wood carries the history of its life in its grains in the same way as we carry our history in the tilt of our body and, when older, the wrinkles on our face. The more turmoil the tree went through the more interesting is the grain. Eventually, the life of the tree ends. I am attracted to this dead wood, especially to the pieces no one else wants because they don't lend themselves to being formed into planks; the ones with knots and twists, cracks or wormholes: they have the most character. When I smooth out the rough saw marks, round the edges, or chip out the rot, the wood appears to live again as if fed by my life force; I find myself my history reflected in the images that are manifested.

In this gallery I want to share with you the discoveries I have experienced while exploring the grain of the wood. I don't begin with a plan and have often been surprised to see what has been carved. Although I know it is my hands and arms doing the movement, it seems like someone, or something else who does the carving.

For me, wood carving began like this. About the time my wife Mars and I were finishing building our house we were visited by a friend, Dan. Since he was at that time selling his coffee farm in Kona, Hawaii he decided to bring over some odds and ends of wood he had saved and stored over the years so that I could use them for free-formed shelves. One piece of wood was seven inches wide, twenty inches high and triangular in shape. It could not be used as a shelf.

I carried this block of Hawaiian monkey pod, ohai , to my carport. There I discovered a chisel on my work bench. I began to carve out of curiosity. The feel of the wood flying away with the flick of the wrist was for me like riding the waves surfing. I played. The wood would only cut well in one direction, otherwise it would chip, gouge and check. I played at rounding the corners, at finding where the grain would lead. I became entranced. My right arm grew tired. I ignored this and chipped on. When I missed the chisel I hit my left hand. I also ignored this until the end of the day. My right arm and left hand were sore for the first few weeks.

I learned to hold the chisel loosely so as not to absorb all the shock of the blow, yet the wrist needed to be locked to keep the aim true. The right side with the hammer was opposite for the hand needed to be firm while the wrist was flexible to increase the power of the stroke. Sometimes the chisel was the wrong tool. I found a rasp worked better at rounding corners, a box knife with a sharp blade worked best for fine detail, and sand paper sometimes was the only way to form the wood.

Others saw what I was carving and brought me other pieces of Hawaiian wood-- koa, milo, lama . People who normally had ignored odd shaped piece now picked them up and carried them to me to see what could come from them. I was also given other valuable carving tools. Eventually I discovered that Dan, the man who loaned me the first piece of wood, had also planted that first chisel on my workbench.

I believe as Demosthenes said that "man is the measure of all things." Therefore it has been human figures that have appeared to me most often in a piece of wood. And each piece has part of my personal history in it, for I am the man with whom I am the most familiar. If someone views a piece and finds they relate to it, the image becomes universal, a means of communication, something we have in common.

The following are a few samples of the outcome of my play with wood. Keep checking this site as Starrbirth plans to add more to the gallery regularly.

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