Carving Process
Carving, Tools & Life
I first picked up a carving knife in 2009, during lunch breaks while teaching at a local college. One of the hobby groups offered an introduction to carving, and on a whim I joined in. Between classes, I shaped my very first ball‑in‑a‑cage carving. That small experiment opened a door I didn’t know I’d been waiting for. I was hooked from the start.
Not long after, I moved to Wisconsin and discovered the Capital Area Carvers of Wisconsin. That community became a second home. Saturday classes, local shows, weekend conferences—each experience helped me grow. More importantly, I made friends who encouraged me, challenged me, and shaped the carver I’ve become. Their support was a gift.
How “Carving Dragon” Was Born
There was no magical transformation—no wings, no fire‑breathing (though that would be fun). The name came from how I carved in those early years. I was newly married, finishing graduate school, working full‑time, and caring for a newborn. Time was scarce, so when I carved, I carved fast. Precise. Intense. Chips flew everywhere. I attacked the wood with the energy of someone trying to squeeze creativity into the cracks of a very full life.
That fierce, focused style is where I created “Carving Dragon”.
An Unexpected Artistic Crisis
Toward the end of my time in Wisconsin, I hit a strange crossroads. Money was tight, so every tool purchase mattered. When I mentioned frustrations with a certain brand, other carvers dismissed them as junk. It wasn’t really about the tools—it was about direction the tools represented. Did I want to stay with the flat‑plane style I knew, or step into the world of larger gouges, mallets, and European‑style carving?
Then I found the Mary May Carving Set. Opening that package felt like a leap of faith. But the moment my mallet struck the gouge and the wood curled away in perfect ribbons, I knew I’d found something I’d been missing. It felt like coming home to myself.
With & Without Family
Life shifted again when I moved back to Utah to be closer to family. Soon after, my marriage ended, and I found myself staring into a familiar darkness. It felt dangerously comforting—like a soft blanket I knew I shouldn’t wrap around myself.
So I carved.
I carved to stay afloat. I carved to stay present. I carved to stay alive.
Around this time, I discovered Stryi tools and invested in a large gouge set. Weekends became a rhythm of mallet strikes and flying chips—each blow helping me work through grief, fear, and uncertainty. With every cut, I felt a little more like myself again.
Subject Fits the Wood
In Wisconsin, basswood was everywhere—soft, affordable, and easy to carve. Utah was a different story. Wood was pricier, harder to find, and not nearly as consistent. That’s when I discovered aspen. When dried well, it’s pale and soft, but in the wild it carries streaks of unexpected color. Those natural variations inspired me to explore abstract forms—loops, curves, and flowing shapes that reveal the wood’s hidden patterns.
This is why I carve abstract female forms and looping sculptures: the wood itself asks for it.
Pointing Machine, Rome & Being Fired
My next big step was buying a pointing machine so I could carve more realistic figures. My first project—a veiled woman—was far too ambitious, but I pushed through, mistakes and all.
Then I traveled alone for the first time, spending Christmas wandering through Rome and Florence. I was cold, sick, and made every mistake—but standing before those statues changed me. I returned home with a renewed sense of purpose.
And then I was fired.
While scrambling through unemployment forms and job applications, carving once again became my anchor. The unexpected time allowed me to finish my first bust, a project that taught me patience, resilience, and the value of simply showing up.
Thankfully, a new job came quickly, and I spent the rest of the summer bringing that bust to life.
Paris & Riffles
The next Christmas, I treated myself to Paris. I spent four unforgettable days wandering the lower levels of the Louvre, taking hundreds of photos and soaking in the beauty of classical sculpture. It deepened my love for the human form and the stories stone can tell.I also visited a local art shop and bought a set of riffles—small, precise tools perfect for refining delicate details. They became essential companions in my figure‑carving journey.
The Future
Today, I’m focused on mastering busts, full figures, and larger statues. I often buy small statues and use my pointing machine to recreate them in wood as practice. My next step is to take community courses to learn the fundamentals of sculpting my own originals.
One day, I hope to transition from wood to marble.
It feels like the natural evolution of the path I’ve been carving—one chip at a time.