Basically, the thought is this: A sculptor chips away unwanted marble. Another version of a version, this one attributed to Michelangelo: “To make a statue of Pegasus, I chip away all the marble that is not a horse.” No one really knows for sure where the statement originated or its exact wording, but both Michelangelo and John Ruskin have been mentioned as the wit behind the thought. A similar statement is attributed to Auguste Rodin.
As you sculpt your life from the raw materials of your talents, learning, experience, and environment, you have a choice of perspectives. You can look for the “form in the rock,” the “horse,” or you can look for whatever is not the form in the rock, the “not-a-horse.” All of us probably do both as any occasion inspires us to choose one perspective—or one method—over the other. Sometimes we look at what we don’t want to include. That’s a bit of a negative approach, but it saves us, for example, from going to jail or to rehab. At other times we look for what we want to include. That’s a bit more positive, and it makes us “goal-oriented.”
Those who spend their lives excluding might still make an admirable representation. In eliminating the “not-a-horse,” they can eventually reveal the “horse in the rock,” Pegasus for example. They just spend their time rejecting what isn’t the ideal they seek and eventually stumble on the ideal they seek. In sculpting, the approach is akin to running a null hypothesis. “I can’t see any relationship to the ideal form I seek in the rock before me.” Those who look directly for the form they desire, reach their goal through their skill and experience with rock, and by some ultimately inexplicable intuition tied to a bit of luck.
Marble is a good medium for sculptors, but not all marbles are the same. No doubt you’ve heard of Tuscany’s Carrara marble, made particularly famous by Michelangelo. Then there’s the marble of Rutland, Vermont, also a “high quality” marble. Why this rock and not others? What makes a rock good for sculpting? Lack of cleavage planes helps.
Not all rocks have such uniformity that they don’t split (cleave) along weak boundaries among layers of crystals. Marble, a metamorphic rock of “baked” limestone, exhibits this characteristic of non-layering--not all marble, but many marbles are "non- foliated," that is, containing no "leaf-like" layering. Other metamorphic rocks that are more durable than marble because of their composition, like slate, a foliated rock that is easily split for roof tiles and blackboards, phyllite, and gneiss, have cleavage planes. Marble’s weakness lies in its composition: It reacts when acidic rain hits it, revealing this propensity to dissolve in old, faded tombstones whose inscriptions are now impossible to read. Of course, there are rocks other than marble that also lack cleavage planes, such as some of the granodiorite quarried in Barre, Vermont, at the Rock of Ages quarry. A statue of granodiorite will outlast a marble statue in a humid climate with acidic rain.
Michelangelo had to know that the marble block he chose for a sculpture lacked those crystal planes. As I wrote above, there’s a bit of luck involved in the sculpting process. Certainly, some cleavage plane could be hidden deep within the block that Michelangelo chose. But he seemed to have an eye for both rock and form. Now think teachers and trainers of all kinds. Their goal is to sculpt the intellectual, the performer, the athlete from the raw materials they see before them. With luck, they choose an apprentice with few weaknesses; they see the potential, the form hidden within. But they also have to deal with the marble they don’t want, chipping off bad habits or weaknesses to get at the more solid form. We do the same with self-sculpting.
All of us encounter unexpected “cleavage planes” as we sculpt our lives. Not all the forms we believe we can reveal in the “raw” materials of Self can be achieved. Uniformity makes some rock ideal for sculptures, but uniformity in humans is difficult to see or stumble on. Not all Carrara marble lends itself to sculpting. Every quarry has waste rock.
So, we sculpt with what we have. Occasionally, we find a perfect piece of marble that we can use to make the form we desire. But all of us spend a considerable amount of energy just chipping off what we don’t want in the final product: Vices, for example. If we are gifted sculptors who have a bit of luck, skill, and persistence, we can produce a winged horse we can look on and say, “I sculpted that.”
As you sculpt your life from the raw materials of your talents, learning, experience, and environment, you have a choice of perspectives. You can look for the “form in the rock,” the “horse,” or you can look for whatever is not the form in the rock, the “not-a-horse.” All of us probably do both as any occasion inspires us to choose one perspective—or one method—over the other. Sometimes we look at what we don’t want to include. That’s a bit of a negative approach, but it saves us, for example, from going to jail or to rehab. At other times we look for what we want to include. That’s a bit more positive, and it makes us “goal-oriented.”
Those who spend their lives excluding might still make an admirable representation. In eliminating the “not-a-horse,” they can eventually reveal the “horse in the rock,” Pegasus for example. They just spend their time rejecting what isn’t the ideal they seek and eventually stumble on the ideal they seek. In sculpting, the approach is akin to running a null hypothesis. “I can’t see any relationship to the ideal form I seek in the rock before me.” Those who look directly for the form they desire, reach their goal through their skill and experience with rock, and by some ultimately inexplicable intuition tied to a bit of luck.
Marble is a good medium for sculptors, but not all marbles are the same. No doubt you’ve heard of Tuscany’s Carrara marble, made particularly famous by Michelangelo. Then there’s the marble of Rutland, Vermont, also a “high quality” marble. Why this rock and not others? What makes a rock good for sculpting? Lack of cleavage planes helps.
Not all rocks have such uniformity that they don’t split (cleave) along weak boundaries among layers of crystals. Marble, a metamorphic rock of “baked” limestone, exhibits this characteristic of non-layering--not all marble, but many marbles are "non- foliated," that is, containing no "leaf-like" layering. Other metamorphic rocks that are more durable than marble because of their composition, like slate, a foliated rock that is easily split for roof tiles and blackboards, phyllite, and gneiss, have cleavage planes. Marble’s weakness lies in its composition: It reacts when acidic rain hits it, revealing this propensity to dissolve in old, faded tombstones whose inscriptions are now impossible to read. Of course, there are rocks other than marble that also lack cleavage planes, such as some of the granodiorite quarried in Barre, Vermont, at the Rock of Ages quarry. A statue of granodiorite will outlast a marble statue in a humid climate with acidic rain.
Michelangelo had to know that the marble block he chose for a sculpture lacked those crystal planes. As I wrote above, there’s a bit of luck involved in the sculpting process. Certainly, some cleavage plane could be hidden deep within the block that Michelangelo chose. But he seemed to have an eye for both rock and form. Now think teachers and trainers of all kinds. Their goal is to sculpt the intellectual, the performer, the athlete from the raw materials they see before them. With luck, they choose an apprentice with few weaknesses; they see the potential, the form hidden within. But they also have to deal with the marble they don’t want, chipping off bad habits or weaknesses to get at the more solid form. We do the same with self-sculpting.
All of us encounter unexpected “cleavage planes” as we sculpt our lives. Not all the forms we believe we can reveal in the “raw” materials of Self can be achieved. Uniformity makes some rock ideal for sculptures, but uniformity in humans is difficult to see or stumble on. Not all Carrara marble lends itself to sculpting. Every quarry has waste rock.
So, we sculpt with what we have. Occasionally, we find a perfect piece of marble that we can use to make the form we desire. But all of us spend a considerable amount of energy just chipping off what we don’t want in the final product: Vices, for example. If we are gifted sculptors who have a bit of luck, skill, and persistence, we can produce a winged horse we can look on and say, “I sculpted that.”
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