This little guy is my favourite of the first group of little men I have made, his face was completely by accident and yet is my favourite of the four. The sense of longing and pain he exudes is so strange, as he is nothing more than a pile of clay molded by human hands. But, is that the beauty of it? That we feel such a response from something like this?
Could what I spoke about in this post here; https://ethangrantdodd.wordpress.com/2013/09/27/my-hands-are-my-heart-gabriel-orozco-1991/
About everyone being able to understand this concept whether they are primitive or contemporary, so important?
Possibly, only time will tell.