David Smith

Life is a sculpture in progress.

The hammer's strike echoes eternity.

I create to escape the mundane.

Form follows feeling, not function.

Art is the rebellion against conformity.

In the studio, time bends like steel.

Sculptures whisper secrets to the wind.

The true artist forges his own path.

Metal remembers the fire that shaped it.

I sculpt joy from industrial waste.

Life's canvas is three-dimensional.

Critics polish what I leave raw.

The sculpture's shadow is its soul.

Art demands solitude, rewards with connection.

Welds are scars of creation.

In art, imperfection is perfection.

My fields inspire forms that touch the sky.

The artist's life is one long weld.

Sculpture liberates the spirit from gravity.

I chuckle at the weight of tradition.