What's Reality Between A Couple of Friends…And a Bunny? Part 2

Part 2: THREE INROADS

Welcome back! In this series we're discussing how our perception can jumble our efforts in equine realism. It's not an easy thing to untangle, but it is doable and worth doing if we wish to open up the potential of our work.

In Part 1, we discussed what perception is, as defined by this series, and also some of the symptoms that typify an unaccountable way of interpreting our subject. The idea of Sight, as opposed to sight was introduced as a way of differing better perceptive abilities. A cute, fuzzy bunny is our wee guide through this maze, pulling from Alice in Wonderland and that infamous rabbit hole. And down that hole we went! So in this Part 2, we’ll be exploring three basic inroads into our perception to learn how to help it along in our favor.

So…let’s go!

THE FRIENDLY SCRITCH

We ended Part 1 on that positive feedback loop that pushes our talents to new heights by feeding our perception new options. This compels our hands to automatically follow suit, and this is how our work improves. To get this loop started then, let’s think of our perception as having three inroads, all essential and dependent on one another. 

The first is our knowledge base. Equine realism fares best with an independent, interdisciplinary, varied education beyond conventional wisdom. Accepting responsibility for our own education not only feeds our brain lots of intriguing information, but it cultivates the cool detachment needed to weigh information in ways consistent to our values. Deepening our knowledge base also puts our creative ideas to the test through study, comparison, and artistic exercises, and the more our knowledge base expands and deepens, so does our art. The importance of proactive study cannot be overstated because Sight only comes to those who work for it.

"It is what you learn after you know it all that counts."
~ Earl Weaver 

And there are loads of avenues for such study—in books, online, in the field, and in class—and it’s worth working for with so many exciting new things to learn! Science is now studying the equine with fresh eyes and new technologies, too, producing surprising results that have direct application to sculpture. For instance, the science of equine podiatry has made huge leaps in understanding in ways that dictate how we should sculpt the feet. In fact, science is finding that much of conventional thought is incomplete or completely mistaken, so we should be ready to unlearn what we have learned. It’s no coincidence that the further we journey beyond the status quo, the closer we come to fascinating truths that have direct relevance to our creative decisions.

As for the second, that is observation—life study—the conscientious study of the circumstantial, physical, structural, and psychological aspects of our subject. Included here is the ability to faithfully translate all that complexity into our clay because—remember, it’s not enough to know, we must also do!

Fortunately, the ability to astutely observe, decipher, and translate is an acquired skill, able to be taught, learned, adapted, and improved. Granted, some are more naturally adept than others, but it can work for anyone willing to make the effort. And it does take our concerted concentration. Equines are creatures of moment and motion, so everything happens quickly! From the crook of an eyebrow to a shift in balance, it all unfolds in the blink of an eye. Our handy camera and anatomical references are certainly lucky tools at our disposal by providing a frozen moment for a reminder or clarification.

But life study is crucial. Sculpting equines from inside a fishbowl, from the assumptions found in the studio or the pages of anatomical tomes, can only work for so long. Equines embody too much life, vitality, and consequence, and we need to connect with them on that level. We also need to relate personally because we’ll absorb the organic nature of biology, the kinetic interplay of physique, the resonance of personality, the anima of presence, the energy of the moment, and the magic and mystery of life. We rediscover physics, vitality, serendipity, and all the indescribable minutiae that inject breath and immediacy into our sculpture. 

We ferret out those anatomy charts, too, more able to translate between the illustrations, the living critter, and our clay. We begin to notice structural similarities and differences, the rules and exceptions, actively developing a fuller mental library of anatomical patterns as well as all the fun happenstance. Eventually, we realize that realism isn't just about what's similar, but even more about what's different. And we learn that each animal is a distinct individual imbued with dignity, circumstance, and a unique internal experience, all of which can be expressed in clay.

"The uneducated person perceives only the individual phenomenon, the partly educated person the rule, and the educated person the exception."
~ Franz Grillparzer

Beyond shows, exhibitions, and rodeos though, we should get out there down n’ dirty among them, perhaps sitting quietly to observe on their terms. Listening. Smelling. Feeling. Seeing. Staying open. Imagining. Trying to experience the world from their point of view. What would it be like to be a horse? How 'bout a foal or old timer? What's it like to function in the parallel, alien world of humans? Can we speak horse language? Can we feel what their body feels with all the tensions, relaxations, twitching, snorting, weight, balancing, twisting, stretching, shaking, whinnying, snorting, and chewing? What is their hide doing? What are their muscles, posture, and balance doing? What would a tail feel like when swished against our side? How much effort would be needed to get up from a roll? How would sunshine feel on so much surface area? 

Without a doubt, chillin’ in the grass with these gracious souls for a couple of hours, interacting and attentive, can reveal more than a whole day ringside. Even an hour of conscientious grooming can teach us more about his body, senses, and presence than any photograph or chart. When we groom, we should gently run our hands over his body, allowing our hands to absorb the planes, bumps, and surfaces into our perception. And how does his mane and tail feel?

Slowly and surely then, the artifice absorbed over the years may start to fade, and suddenly we realize we've changed. We cannot come to perceive our subject differently—or our clay differently—if we remain the same. We discover this truth:

To change our work, we must first change ourselves. 

And then there’s the third inroad, which is probably the most important, and that is this: stay curious, open, reflective, and flexible. Ponder and reconsider, don't take anything at face value, especially our own notions. For instance, think of a body part, say, a lifted shoulder. Let’s close our eyes and picture it in every detail in our mind, the articulations, the bony topography, the muscle delineations, the planes, the hide, the details like capillaries and even bug bites. The lay of the coat, the rippling flesh, and the stretch of fascia. Now let’s open our eyes and actually look at a lifted shoulder—what did we get right? What did we get wrong? What did we miss? The more we do this with the living animal and our references, the more we train our perception to pick up on actual structure as well as all the little details.

Questioning our expectations and assumptions helps to avoid comfort zones, and regularly checking our composition against the living subject and our references helps to expose blindspots. The more we try to get our sculpture exact, the more we’re asked to consider. So when we think, "I know enough," or "I've always done it this way,” or “that’s about right,” those are the moments when we allow our perception to get the better of us.

It’s a natural human tendency though; we each have the innate hubris of homo sapien. Yet equine realism asks us to shed just that because we aren't dealing with humans. We’re tasked with conveying the authenticity of a whole ‘nuther being, one with a completely different reality than our own. It's curiosity that helps to override our perception's insistence on its own reality at the expense of another’s because our subject isn't the only one under the microscope.

Indeed, there are big differences between critical thinking and second–guessing, introspection and narcissism, reflection and self–doubt, aren’t there? Having the confidence and courage to turn inwardly to analyze ourselves, to candidly self–critique and put our work (and ourselves) to the test, to ask the hard personal questions and employ the necessary changes—regardless of comfort zones—are needed to reduce dependence on the automation of our perception.

And while these three inroads are products of our perception—yes—employing them together can help to train it, and better Sight is soon to follow. The more cultivated and synched they are are, too, the more our perception improves. We may then develop our own artistic checks to ramp our perception up even more. Blindspots, faulty premises, incomplete understanding, misguided expectations, and flawed techniques burble to the surface, and we begin to think differently about how we’re doing things. That’s our first step into a much broader experience in equine realism. 

It's invigorating to recognize our self–sabotaging mistakes as well as things we didn’t previously know! It's like discovering the art form fresh all over again, only now we have the ability to make some real headway. Yet metaphorical journey is continuous largely because recalibration of our perception isn’t permanent. It automatically resets to defaults, even if a new kind. It's like standing on a big, jiggling block of Jell–OTM. It needs constant readjustment and attentiveness. 

Why? Well, many reasons. For one, our perception can only see what it wants to see and nothing more. Being a closed feedback loop, our perception is effectively self–reinforcing, self–reliant and self–serving. And having evolved to work in tandem with the pattern recognition response, it likes to reach a new equilibrium and then stay there until a new one is generated. That is to say it falls into a resting state of lowest energy by default, and must be coaxed into higher energy states with proactive prodding—with each new piece and with each new educational opportunity. 

"The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend."

~ Henri Bergson

Which brings us to this conundrum: our perception not only Self–colorizes, but prefers the path of least resistance when interpreting reality. Having to process huge amounts of information quickly forces such economy, but realistic equine sculpture does best with a fuller investment. The good news is our perception can be induced into establishing new, better defaults with each new sculpture, essentially creating a “new normal” each time. As a wise friend once said, “Each new piece is practice for the next.” This is exactly what happens as we improve—we progressively set newer, better equilibriums in our perception.

But it can take a goodly sum of energy to bump our perception into a new equilibrium, doesn’t it? And that’s another important point: 

Outside energy is required to reset our perception into better equilibriums. 

Being a closed feedback loop, our perception cannot reset on its own but needs outside influence to shake it loose. Influences such as life study, new techniques, unconventional references, proactive research, astute critique, guided instruction, classes and workshops, and artistic exercises are good choices. We literally need other realities to reevaluate our own because we need a comparative basis. 

But we can’t just attain a new equilibrium and then call it a day. Nope. Because our perception is quick to resettle—even revert— and that means we have to keep going, we have to apply this mode of improvement as an ongoing process. And that takes constant vigilance and bravery. 

Yes—bravery. There will come a time when we’ve mastered our techniques, our process and our media, and the remaining journey will begin to reflect inward. Our problem will inevitably become personal. The more advanced we become, the less our improvement has to do with methodology and more to do with our psyche. At some point our dissecting eye must turn inwards even though that’s not often such a comfortable headspace. Having to question not only how our perception is functioning, but why it’s doing so, cannot be accomplished without first addressing who we are through the same cold lens of objectivity. Having the will to slaughter our own sacred cows and conquer our psychological peaks is unnerving, but it is required.

It’s this inward dissection that lifts equine realism above mere clinical duplication, making it more meaningful than a 3D printer. This splendid creature asks us to search for Truth—the truth in our art, the truth in our subject, and the truth of ourselves. Over time, we’ll find that this inquisitive voyage keeps us eager and empathetic, attributes that serve us far better than any chart or loop tool in the long game. Because here's the catch: 

Unlike many things in daily life, realistic equine sculpture suffers from autopilot. 

Sure, we’re beholden to the biological pattern of “equine,” but our habits, presumptions, comfort zones, tendencies, preferences, trusted notions and other defaults can sabotage our efforts, and right under our nose. To us, our sculpture just “looks right.” Yet blindspots flourish within our autopilot, so trying to create consciously helps us to curb that sneaky problem.

Yet caution is needed every step of the way. As we recalibrate our perception, we risk establishing new unwelcome autopilots; we’re not only introduced to new ways of getting things right, but also to new ways of getting things wrong. These new defaults can also compound with previous ones, accumulating into one big wad of trouble. Our trusty set of calipers can be our best friend!

That said, autopilot settings aren’t all bad. In fact, some may serve as a kind of ritual. Some media, like ceramics or bronze casting, may actually require specific habits. The trick then is to identify those dependencies that serve us well from those that self–sabotage, and any time is a good time to rethink strategy! 

CUDDLING THE BUNNY

Mash all this together and it means one thing, doesn’t it? And that is this: 

All we can ever do is interpret and translate our own individual approximation of reality, not actual reality itself. 

No matter how refined our perception, all we ever have to work from is merely an approximation of reality. And no matter how much we believe our approximation to be true and accurate, it's still only an artificial construct strained through our biological limitations, social conditioning, and psychological discriminations. What’s more, the fervor of our belief doesn’t make our reality any more authentic than someone else’s reality. Everyone believes their version of reality is the trusted and true version, just as we believe in ours.

So let's think about this for a minute. What’ve we got? Another really important point, don’t we? Yet it’s one so easily forgotten in this demanding, fact–based art form, but no less critical to keep close to heart. What is it?…

We all perceive reality differently. 

And there it is, another paradoxical duality inherent in our art form: we may all be striving to capture objective reality, but that objective reality is different for each of us! Like the previous “everybody’s a critic” example, actual reality may be out there—undetectable beyond our limitations—but our perception simply can’t recognize it without specific guidance.

And it’s this probability that ushers in a host of new concerns. To start, we should remember that outside guidance, like a critique, presents a reality just as subjective as our own, bringing with it its own potential skews. And remember that it’s our perception that divines what we need from that critique, resulting in yet another potential skew. So even deciding what we need for our development has its own tenuous kinks.

Luckily, our art form comes to the rescue! Equine realism is a technical art form, right? We may be creating art, but there's still the objective factuality of the living animal as well as a plethora of technical illustrations we can study, measure, and compare against. This how we create equine realism in the first place. It’s how we distinguish whether one sculpture is more realistic than another, too. By its very nature, equine realism has an objective baseline, so it’s not as ambiguous or “open to opinion” as one might think. It’s no coincidence that the more actual reality we imbue into our clay, the more realistic our work becomes. It’s also no coincidence why this straightforward principle always works for all realistic equine art.

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."
~ Philip K. Dick

Happily, this technical baseline is also conditional, teachable, learnable, quantitative, distinguishable, and consistent, the very qualities we exploit to make our work “more realistic.” We instinctively recognize this. The fact that technical accuracy automatically increases the realism of our work is proof of its objective nature, isn’t it? Either a sculpted hind leg is constructed more like an equine hind leg or it isn’t, and that quality can be directly compared against the living animal for confirmation when our perception is refined enough. This is why anatomy is our go–to, sure–fire antidote for structural mistakes, and it’s why we study anatomical illustrations, amass so many photos, and engage in field study. Instinctively, we seek that objective baseline we know is necessary for our clay.

This means it’s not objective reality that’s in question then. Instead, it’s our interpretation of reality that’s up for grabs. So remarks downplaying the objective nature of equine realism are actually saying, "I don't know enough about the technical basis of this art form to accurately recognize what's right or wrong well enough." It's a plea for patience. And—hey—no problem! We're all at various stages of growth. Being a learner—indeed, staying a learner—is vital for advancement, and just as we all perceive reality differently, we absorb and implement reality at different rates, and in different ways. Our journey is as unique as our perception.

But we do ourselves a disservice when we turn our perception gaps into excuses. We may all have different motivations, but our perception can be trained to any point we wish. The moment we decide to stop then is the moment when the excuses have to start, and that’s fine—we all have our limits. We should just be certain we can flourish within them.

Because this trap is reset for us at every turn, predisposing us to repeat our mistakes simply because we don't perceive them as mistakes. And that's another important point: 

It’s against our perception’s nature to eagerly tell us what it goofed or filtered out, meaning that what we don't perceive is far more influential than what we do. 

Each sculpture is the sum of its parts, a patchwork of skill, experience, enthusiasm and wisdom encapsulating a moment in our development. But all said and done, each sculpture is shaped more by what isn't expressed in the clay than by what is, our every omission a result of what our perception cannot recognize, and that has to do with what we are more than what we know.

So attending to our perception isn’t just about our subject or our sculpture—it’s about us, too, on a deeply personal level. So a time will come when new tools, methods, or media will cease to be the panacea, and our growth will start to include the hidden corners of our psyche. No longer about technique, our progress will turn inward, as such:

At some point we’ll become our own greatest obstacle, so for our work to grow, so must we. 

The fuller scope of our journey, this presents an opportunity to not only enrich our work, but ourselves as well. Because know it or not, every "lightbulb moment" was always preceded by a shift in our Self rather than the other way around. Relaxing our grip on trusted norms gives our perception permission to allow in new information, and then—and only then—do those bulbs start blinking on. And we may not be aware this shift is happening, but only through a change in our Self can we change our perception.

Developing the habit of rooting out what goes unSeen is a smart move. Our artistic flurries are wonderful, of course, but we can't forget to "color within the lines" Nature has drawn for us. In many ways actually, these mandated boundaries can be more of a challenge than just making stuff up. Tinkering with rules, seeing how they're bent or broken, and noting how they add up to the timeless mystery of Nature is an exquisite awakening.

GETTING BEHIND THE EARS

Learning how we absorb and use information holds the key to our sustained growth. Or in other words, knowing how our biology works helps us to better convey the biology of another. It’s not easy, though. Perception is a slippery thing, having two troublesome complications. 

To begin with, refining our perception is the single most difficult skill to develop only because we’re literally working against ourselves. We have to work within our perception in order to hone it, and that’s a bit of a hitch, isn’t it?

Making this more difficult, most resources at our disposal ignore this issue altogether, and we’re left to our own devices to flail between information and interpretation. If that weren’t enough, our thinking tends to solidify after we’ve reached a certain proficiency level. We may even start to believe we know all we need to know, having found a measure of success. And the greater the success, the more this idea can take over, making an artistic plateau imminent. This is why we make leaping advances in our early days, but level out later in our career. It’s not our skills that stop evolving, it’s us.

All this is why continued evolution for our psyche can be more difficult for advanced sculptors. On one hand, there are fewer resources to exploit. Educational opportunities tend to only address the practical avenues of understanding, such as methodology and design theory. Even fewer venues approach the subject in the specialized way equine realism requires. And fewer still offer the holistic, interdisciplinary approach that best serves equine realism. For example, it’s unlikely we’ll find a sculpting class that incorporates horsemanship, management, and farrier principles, or a dissection class that includes artistic visualization and design principles, or a horsemanship clinic that integrates sculpting technique and process.

Such is life. But this is the reason why advanced artists often approach their creativity sideways, exploring vastly different modes of creating in order to unlock more of their Self to broaden their perception. They instinctively know it’s not their skills that necessarily need attention at that point, it’s what’s going on inside their heads. It’s also why the more skilled we become, the more self–reliance we’re forced to adopt since conventional avenues of education gradually lose their relevance.

But all this places the advanced sculptor in an ever more vulnerable position. For this reason, their remaining blindspots are particularly difficult to expose only because they’re the ones that have survived, perhaps even evolved as they did.

THE BELLY RUB

Unlike other art forms, equine realism is accountable to something beyond our making—the living animal—and that’s certainly a tough act to follow. Along with sculpting skills then, our perception needs a degree of finesse often beyond that of other artists, even beyond other equine professionals. Our knowledge base is unique and uniquely expansive, being interdisciplinary and practical yet also philosophical and balanced between science and aesthetic. Above all, our perception cannot take anything for granted.

But again, because knowing and doing are two different things, we have to apply this knowledge, too, and in rather unique ways. But doing so in our clay is no easy task since much can get muddled between our understanding and applying that understanding. Think back to when we were beginners. Our work was less convincing not necessarily because our skills were primitive, or that our familiarity with clay was new. It was because our perceptive abilities were rudimentary. So as our perception refined over time, we could shape our clay in more believable and confident ways. If we really think about it then, every progressive step we’ve ever taken is the product of an improved perception, with the shrewder strokes of our tools being the ends rather than the means. 

As we grew beyond the obvious then, we may have found an even deeper perception, “the moment,” that cocoon of reality that seats our subject into a complete universe. Just like us, an equine is the sum of an on–going, complex, and ever–changing equation composed of variable factors that include (but aren’t limited to): biology, physics, emotion, behavior, balance, motion, circumstance, character, narrative, posture, species, age, instinct, gender, fitness, management, weather, horsemanship, lifestyle, habitat, conformation, disease, injury, grooming, stimuli, and serendipity. Being able to perceive the entire unfolding equation second–by–second is a learned skill and through it, we move past anatomy charts to give our sculptures greater factual scope.

But that's only half the story! Why? Well, because we’re part of the equation, too! Our Reality Filter influences all these observations, like Schrödinger’s cat, making our task both objective and subjective. At every stage, our perception predestines what we absorb, making our work the sum of our blindspots as well as our strengths. And this effect presents an interesting choice for the advanced sculptor. After all our years of success and study, it’s only natural to assume that our status quo is sufficient for continued success, and that’s probably true. But that does mean our methodology, our thinking, and our work could become fixed and monotonous. Choosing not to stray too far from our trusty formulas may be safe, but wanting to break free and stride towards a greater potential isn’t so scary.

Because it may seem like an unsettling liability to know we cannot fully trust our perception, but we can frame it another way: it can be an opportunity to remain proactive and curious. In this way, equine realism becomes a path rather than a practice, a philosophy rather than just an activity. In this light, we’re called to muster uncommon dedication, and even more, we’re pulled into this animal’s world on his terms, and that takes us closer to the deeper meanings of this art form. 

SMOOTHING THE FUR

Because what we cannot See is more influential in our work than what we can means that when we observe, we need to remember that our perception is selectively making subjective comparisons. That in mind, we may be able to coax it into opening up its selective process to generate a more complete mental library. If we know how we’re looking at something is heavily influenced by habit, perhaps this gives us the wherewithal to stretch a bit farther.

Only through attentive management can our perception help unfurl our true potential, or lead us to the new concepts we’d need to solve a peculiar design challenge. And the more advanced we get, the more this practice will become necessary. Keeping our Self in absorption mode, just like it was in our early days, can go far in leaping off plateaus, or avoiding them altogether. Remember the heady excitement in a class as our Self entered into a frame of mind more open to everything? We can maintain this frame of mind every time we enter our studio, too, to maintain this momentum indefinitely!

And that means training our perception never actually stops, it just goes through cycles and phases. The more we perceive, the more we realize there is to perceive, and the whole cycle begins again to feed on itself, drawing us continually forwards into new possibilities. It’s precisely this positive loop that we describe as “growth" because all “sculpting more realistically” really means is a perception opening up to more, newer, better options.

MORE TEA?

So that’s it for now. In Part 3, we’ll peruse a particular aspect of perception that can stop us in our tracks: fear. Learning how fear influences what we do can go far to help us achieve newer heights of creativity and authenticity in our work.

So on that note…another cuppa?

“What an artist learns matters little. What he himself discovers has real worth for him, and gives him the necessary incitement to work.” ~ Emil Nolde

Recommended Resources

LOOKS CAN DECEIVE: WHY PERCEPTION AND REALITY DON'T ALWAYS MATCH UP, Christof Koch.

UNDERSTANDING CONFLICT AND WAR: VOL. 1: THE DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGICAL FIELD; PERCEPTION AND REALITY, R. J. Rummel

'MIND'S EYE' INFLUENCES VISUAL PERCEPTION, Pearson et al.

PERCEPTION IS REALITY, Dr. Jennifer Paweleck-Bellingrodt

THE HUMAN DILEMMA; LIFE BETWEEN ILLUSION AND REALITY, Ben G. Yacobi

ARTISTIC AUTHENTICITY; USING YOUR VOICE, Sarah Minkiewicz-Breunig (RESS article)

WALKING THE TIGHTROPE; THE UNREALITY OF REALISM, Sarah Minkiewicz-Breunig, (RESS article)

THE METHOD, THE MADNESS AND THE MYSTERY, ongoing blog series, Sarah Minkiewicz-Breunig

WHEN BELIEFS AND FACTS COLLIDE, Brendan Nyhan, 2014.

Stanford Prison Experiment, 1971, Philip G. Zimbardo.

PART III

What's Reality Between A Couple of Friends…And a Bunny? Part 2

What's Reality Between A Couple of Friends…And a Bunny? Part 1

Part 1: BUNNY LOGIC 

One might think the issue of reality is rather self–evident when working in realism. Indeed, it should barely beg mentioning, right? “Realistic” equine sculpture is literally descriptive; neither metaphor nor allusion, it’s exactly as described. Reality is reality, and that’s plainly clear.

But what if I told you that reality was just an illusion? That there’s nothing self–evident or plain about it? That reality is just a deceptive veneer over a mad wonderland of unfathomable potentiality, and that all we believe to be true is actually just one of life’s many long cons? And what if some put–out proverbial coney held the secret to what’s really going on? Faced with the ramifications of those ideas, would you really want to chase that cute bunneh down that rabbit hole?

If you don’t—hey—that's okay! We all decide to race after lunatic lagomorphs in our own time. Here's the thing though: if we want to learn the true nature of what we’re doing to gain meaningful control over it, we gotta chase dat bunny! So let’s go git 'im!

Ah–HA! Gotcha!

But wait…well, this is curious. Having caught the feisty, little fuzzball, we now realize he's led us smack dab into the middle of our mental mind–scape. A place that just gets “curioser and curioser,” it roils with our creativity, our reason, our psyche—all that we are, chock full of nooks and crannies crammed with our eccentricities and individuality. This madcap hare brought us here because he knows that our willingness to explore this place will determine the nature of our development long into the future. Strange how such a seemingly straightforward art form could be so complicated at its core. 

But how could this be? Realism is simple! We’re just duplicating what’s there for goshsakes. Simply sculpting what we see is as plain as the nose on our face. It’s all just a matter of getting the facts right. Right?

Wrong.

Wrong?! How could that be wrong? I call shenanigans! Facts are facts. Either a sculpture is faithful to equine structure and behavior, or it isn’t. It’s black and white. Heck, sculpting according to anatomy charts alone guarantees success. It's just that simple.

Ah…yep, yep…there he is…that wascally wabbit is giggling now. Oh, and hey—he just winked at us! Cheeky bunny! Why? Because he knows there’s nothing simple about any of it! And he knows this idea is exactly the wrong way to approach equine realism. Even more, he’s got a big secret he’s dying to share with us!

Okay, then…some long–eared, nose–wigglin' gremlin lords over some fancy shmancy super secret. Big whoop. [rolling eyes] I know I’ve got it right! I’m doing just fine. I don’t need to listen to some wacko rodent.

Are we really so sure about that? 

See, the ticklish secret our cottontail pixie clutches in his little velvet paws is one so pivotal it has the power to change not only the way we look at our work and our subject, but also the way we look at ourselves. This secret is so monumental, in fact, that it can both unlock and generate our ever–expanding potential, so should we really dismiss that fuzzy bun so quickly?

In the spirit of discovery then, this six–part series will explore just that—The Big Bunny Secret. And I'm calling it that because I like it. It’s snappy. It also involves a rodent, and cool stuff always involves a rodent. Fact.

I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE, SOMETHING THAT STARTS WITH “B”!

Each new piece is a testing ground for our applied skills, so our process isn’t just a means to an end, but a form of training as well. And just as our technique needs training, so does our psyche. This mental training prepares our mind to work, and whether newbie or established, an unassuming “learner” attitude is a helpful headspace for realistic equine sculpture.

Because here’s the thing: what goes on in our heads is far more influential than what goes on with our hands. That may seem an unconventional idea, but the conflux of our nature and nurture produces a cumulative effect that overrides any given resource, instruction, technique, medium, or tool. Our design as homo sapien plus the sum of our life experiences combine into a complex mix of what’s preprogrammed, what’s tendency, and what’s potential.

That means inside each of us there exists a singular, unfolding universe, governed by an exclusive set of advantages, neutrals, and limitations that leverages our reactions. But that doesn’t mean they’re absolutes. Some are manageable, even malleable, and it’s targeting this flexibility that unlocks our dormant potential.

Because here’s a critical clue—some may think that sculpting equines realistically is simply a matter of duplicating what we see. That we just look at a horse and recreate it and, therefore, the more observation we do, the more correct our sculpture. If we have a problem then, more observation solves it, as though hours translated into progress. The assumption here is that our task is a process of default, that progress is merely a matter of applying more of the same. 

Yet this concept is so flawed, it's fundamentally responsible for every mistake we’re ever going to make. This is because simply sculpting what we see is exactly what we should not be doing. That may seem ridiculous, but observation is only one component to a much bigger puzzle, one that not only doesn’t respond to more of the same, but can actually regress. For instance, we could do hours of intent life study and still not convey our observations accurately in our clay, right? We could have a pile of resources at our disposal, yet they can still confuse us, yes? Heck, we could be around horses every day, and still goof when sculpting.

And innate talent can only take us so far. In the same way, our tools, media, training, popularity, experience, and style will all fail us at some point only because they aren’t the reasons for our progress either, only the incidental outcomes. It’s all about the bunny. Believe it or not, every aspect of our efforts is only as useful as that bunny allows it to be. What the bunny commands, we must do—not the other way around.

So this six–part series will explore this elusive Big Bunny Secret, taking a more philosophical lead rather than a how–to. It’s not often such things are discussed in realistic equine sculpture, but they’re critical topics to consider nonetheless. Take from it what you will, and a list of recommended reading is provided with each installment for further investigation. So let’s get to it!

STARING AT THE BUNNY

Our giggling, squee sage already understands that it's not enough to know—we must also do. That means it’s not so much the what, but the how—in how we observe, how we interpret, how we translate, and how we utilize. How we understand information and how we apply it is what counts. That means knowing and doing are two entirely different things when it comes to sculpting equines realistically. We can know a thing, for instance, but still get it wrong in clay, right? Knowledge is only as useful as how we use it, and our work is only as good as our applied knowledge base. This brings us to our first important point: 

What’s actually true and what we interpret to be true are two entirely different things.

And there it is, one of the many paradoxical dualities in this art form. Is it such a surprise though? The equine is probably one of the most difficult subjects to sculpt, especially with any degree of technical prowess. With so much complexity wrapped up in one dynamic, sensitive, nuanced, holistic package on the hoof, is it any wonder why this beast has confounded artists for centuries? Even masters like Degas never thought he got this animal quite right! We're in very good company. 

Even so, this duality is a clue to what that bitty bunny clutches in his kissable little paws, it being the single most important concept for our progress. But let’s first talk about how we do what we do when we mush around clay. We need a bit of backstory to better understand what the bunny is guarding so adorably. 

So…what’s directly governing the shaping of our sculptures?

“Our hands,” you say. “Duur–hay! That was too easy.”

Okay, then…what’s governing them?

“My mind, of course, you silly!” 

Wrong—on both counts! The truth is our paws are only incidental. There just happens to be at the end of each arm a bony meat–pad with five pointy bits sticking out. We could just as easily be missing fingers or be fitted with a prosthetic. And we use tools, right? Our mind is also incidental, more like a conduit rather than the generator itself, more the engine than the driver. So what then?…

“Of course! Our knowledge base. What we know directs our hands.”

Well, no—not really. Sure, there’s a connection, but only as matter of course. Like our hands, our knowledge base is incidental. Again, for instance, we could know a great deal but fail to adequately express those insights in our clay.

“Ah ha! It’s our natural talent! Hey—some people are just naturally better at this than others, so it has to be a special gift.”

Sorry—wrong again! Sure, natural talent may make sculpting easier for some, but it’s by no means the crux of the issue. Even gifted people make mistakes and get stuck like everyone else.

“Well then, it has to be training—what classes and instruction we’ve taken…right?” 

Nope! Educational opportunities are certainly invaluable, but we can misstep despite them. Instruction is only another tool, not the source.

“It’s gotta be our media and tools then—the clay and gizmos we use to shape the clay. That has to be it! If I get the right ones, I’m home free!” 

Again, sorry, no. Our tools are simply that—tools. Despite them we can still get things wrong or, on the other hand, we could use a stick to create a masterpiece. Tools are just extensions of our hands, a means to an end and nothing more. Similarly, our media is just the vessel, the passive substance we alter into the form we wish. 

“Our experience—it’s gotta be our experience then, how long we’ve been at this!” 

Negatory. Sure, the number of years we’ve been at this provides certain benefits, but time itself doesn’t equate to skill. We’ve all seen a brilliant newb come onto the scene, for instance. Time is simply a clock ticking on a wall, nothing more.

 So let’s keep cogitating…hmmm…if it’s not our knowledge, talents, tools, media, training, or experience then, and it’s not our minds or hands either…what’s really smooshing the clay around? And what’s smooshing it around in that distinctive, individual style that only we can produce? What in the world could possibly have such influence, dictating and predetermining all these important attributes? 

“Hey—wait a minute…does that mean this hidden force also directs how we interpret the living subject? Whoa…could that also mean it determines what we absorb from instruction, critique, photos, field study, and other resources? Even what we learn from studying the work of others? Good gravy—that would mean it dictates our every thought and decision, our every action and reaction, our every undertaking and goal, our every interpretation and assumption! Holy smokes—it’s the root of everything!

Go on…dig deep. Still stuck? No worries—it’s really not so obvious. What operates inside our head and under our radar? What compels our behaviors and tendencies? What’s the one thing that every living thing has, yet makes each of us unique and special? What is it that actually shapes our clay? Think.

Yep—there! You got it! Bingo! Through our mind, soul, heart, and gut, and right down to our fingertips and into our tools and our waiting clay, then back again in an infinite Ouroboros loop…there’s only one thing, isn't there? The only Boss Mare in the band, it could only be this one thing, couldn’t it? All along…yes…

Our perception.

REACHING OUT TO THE BUNNY

Now wait a minute…perception? What in the world does perception have to do with realistic equine sculpture? C’mon! I call bogus!

Ho...ho...hoooooold on there, Tex! Ease down, thundercloud. Don't be so quick to dismiss it. There's definitely nothing simple about it. In fact, it’s probably the most complicated facet of ourselves. It also happens to have everything to do with realistic equine sculpture. Heck, one could easily argue that our perception is the entire keg o’ shoes!

So ta–da! It’s our perception that’s the big secret Mr. Fluffy Tail is guarding so sweetly! He knows perception dictates everything, and being so, sets the very foundation of all our efforts. So now that we know, let’s find out how…

TOUCHING THE BUNNY

Evolution has outfitted our brain with a hardwired “reality filter” that sifts through all stimuli according to our unique constellation of nature vs. nurture. Connected directly to the Self, this filter then tints all that stimuli with it so, in a sense, we can think of our perception as our own custom–made pair of “Self–colored glasses” we use to interpret our experiences, both external and internal.

So what is the Self? It can mean different things to each of us, but for this series we can think of the "Self" as:

The culmination of our hardwiring as homo sapien paired with our ego, insecurities, strengths, defenses, emotions, motivations, personality, reasoning, hopes, values, beliefs, and judgements—all that we are as individuals. 

It’s purpose is to engineer our own individual interpretation of reality in order to interact with it. To do this, our perception is a powerful editing tool, screening input and output with the ability to deny, cherry–pick, or change data to best synch with the Self. It’s not passive, but aggressively proactive. That’s because its interpretation of reality is designed to protect the Self, and it reinforces itself by convincing us that our take on reality is the only truthful and reliable version; it’s self–validating. But there’s a problem in this, isn’t there? Yep…you nailed it again…

Our perception is a conflict of interest loop, being

inherently prejudiced and based on

agendized, edited information. 

The human animal has a profound, instinctive need to have a handle on reality, and so our perception won’t just engineer a self–validated reality, it’ll also only expose the Self to what it can handle at that moment. And we don’t even know this is happening. We simply believe our interpretation of reality to be unquestionable and absolute, and this effect takes hold despite our skill, training, success, talent, or experience…even before we touch clay! Here we are, tasked with the job of recreating a living subject with technical objectivity, yet the very conduit we drawn upon to do this is designed specifically to be subjective. Clearly we’re operating within a pickle of a problem, aren’t we? No wonder sculpting realism is so hard!

But this is the reason why we each respond to different things when observing the very same subject. For instance, we could sculpt the very same Thoroughbred mare in the very same pose, but each of us would sculpt her quite differently, even despite the degree of technical prowess we infuse. That’s because each of our perceptions would identify and interpret not only different qualities, but those qualities differently. Because think about it: if we were all 100% objectively technical, not only would our sculptures look exactly like the subject, they’d look exactly alike, too, right? But they don’t. This is perception at work.

By actively selecting information to create a unique set of criterion, each of our perceptions is absolutely unique, too. Moreover, it edits not only when we’re looking at our sculpture, but when we’re looking at the living subject, and when we compare our sculpture against the living subject. Our perception also changes throughout the sculpting process, progressing or regressing, depending on how carefully we’re attending to it. It also dictates our interaction with our knowledge base, tools, references, critiques, and even instruction, since each entails its own comparative interpretation. It just keeps stacking up!

"Perception is demonstrably an active rather than a passive process; it constructs rather than records 'reality.'" 
~ Michael Michalko

Altogether then, it means that we each have a different set of predetermining selective priorities based on what our perception filters in or out, or alters outright. That also means our style, values, and goals along with our blindspots, trouble areas, unconscious tendencies, and defaults all originate in our perception as well. This is why a sculpture can meet with different opinions, as everyone is applying their different unconscious criterion to it. It’s also why everyone thinks their interpretation is the only correct one. 

Consequently, the unique characteristics of our perception reveal much about our Self; our creative choices reflect who we are. So when we interpret our subject, our work, our resources, our knowledge base, and even the work of others, we’re unconsciously working from a biased point of view derived from our individuality. 

This brings us to a critical idea embedded in the Big Bunny Secret, one easily forgotten, but oh–so essential to keep close to heart:

 We each interpret reality differently and so each of our realities is different.

This effect is attached to some quips we’ll likely encounter throughout our career. What's art without the critic, eh? For instance, we may hear the comment, "Hasn't she ever actually looked at a real horse before?" Well…perhaps she has, only she perceives horses differently than we do because her reality is different from ours.

We may also hear, "Is that artist blind? Can she not see the [insert error] she sculpted?" No, perhaps not, but only because her perception is different. And is her perception any less valid than ours? How are we so sure our reality is provably more correct? It's just as probable we’re the one in error. Where's the empirical evidence? The comparative examples? The research? If all we have is our intangible opinion, that's fine—we're all allowed to have one. But that's not enough for equine realism. An opinion isn’t a fact, and when regarding this complex, technical art form, we’re asked to do better than that.

So what’s perception exactly? It’s not so easy to define and can actually be framed many different ways. Over time, we’ll each come to our own idea of it, but for this series let's go with this…

Perception is the progressive ability to See, to comprehend on a deeper, more integrated, and more expansive level so as to observe, envision, and translate more actual reality between the living subject, our resources, and our media.

Note the capital "S" in “See,” distinguishing it from seeing, the casual interpretation of non–artists. We all start out seeing, and have to work for Sight only because it necessitates specialized, rigorous training, and in peculiar ways. Also note “progressive.” The implication here being this: Sight isn’t static, but constantly evolving towards more refinement and potency. This specialized training begins with one powerful idea: 

Our perception is the crux of all our efforts, with everything else its byproduct. 

Our talents, schooling, opportunities, awards, contracts, grants, and everything else are only the outcomes of our perception, and its keenness determines their nature. This being so, improving our perception automatically improves these conditions, not the other way round. That is to say advancement always originates in our perception, and the more our perception improves, the more our work does so in kind. When we learn to See differently, we’ll begin to sculpt differently since our mind and hands follow our perception like baby ducks scrambling behind mama duck. Quack quack!

Why is that? Think about it…the more developed our perception, the more we See, right? So the more information we can absorb, process, and apply, the more creative options we provide for our clay or our career. And if our perception is well–schooled, it can even select out those options not aligned to our values.

"All our knowledge has its origin in our perceptions."
~ Leonardo da Vinci

This mechanism makes a great deal of evolutionary sense on many levels. For one, it allows a group of people to approach a single problem from multiple angles. No wonder we're such an inventive, adaptable species! But for us, it lends diversity to equine realism by allowing multiple minds to interpret the same subject in different ways, keeping the art form vital and lively.

And for that, the benefits of an ever–expanding menu of options cannot be overstated—choice is empowering! Indeed, our work improves in direct relation to how many creative choices are available to us, resulting in many welcome benefits. For one, it revs up our enthusiasm with the spilling cornucopia of new ideas to explore. Our body of work then diversifies and expands, deepening in appeal and meaning. Even more, we now have the welcome opportunity to make conscious decisions about our work rather than just duplicating, defaulting to convention or habit, or perhaps resorting to guesstimates. Better still, we’re given the means to identify our blindspots and trouble spots with greater clarity, and that generates tangible, sustained progress. Making confident, deliberate choices gives our body of work authority and creative honesty, too, and takes our work beyond clinical representation. As if that wasn’t enough, we’re also afforded the privilege of advocating for this animal instead of just parroting what we see. And last but not least, we can wring the most our of every moment, giving us more bang for our buck in education or field study, and that’s always a plus! 

We can liken the potentiality of options to a grocery store, with the creation of our sculpture much like making a salad. If all our grocery has is iceberg lettuce, carrots, and Ranch dressing, our salads are going to be pretty limited, aren’t they? Mealtime will become a homogenized routine, and we may get bored or frustrated. There’s also artifice involved here since there’s way more to salad than just these three ingredients.

So now let’s add options. Let’s throw in a plethora of cheeses, different lettuces, kale, broccoli, spinach, mushrooms, sprouts, onions, cucumbers, bell peppers, various beans, tofu, corn, avocado, all kinds of seeds, tomatoes, dried fruits, fresh fruits, all sorts of dressings and whatever else we can think up. Our salad just got a whole lot more interesting, didn’t it? It's exactly like that. Plus, our salad creations became much more illustrative of all that is “salad,” too, with no two salads alike, just like our subject in life, just like each passing moment. Having more information at our disposal simply means we can do more with our clay, and in ways that better capture the varied, mercurial nature of our subject. 

So when it comes to growth, like everything else, “sculpting better” is only a byproduct of our perception’s growth. What’s really happening is that our perception is becoming better at allowing more unfiltered reality to enter our clay. Think about it—we can sculpt a foreleg any way we like, but when we improve, it’s because we’re applying new, better choices to shape it, right? That’s how it works. But that’s another conflict of interest complicating our efforts, isn't it? Another pickle, in that:

The very same pathway we use to objectively interpret both our subject and our sculpture is the very one designed to be subjective and biased.

Left to its own devices, our perception can only offer us subjective reality. It just doesn’t know how to do otherwise unless we show it how. We have to school it, train it, coax it, guide and stewart it; it’s a learned skill. Think about every trouble spot we’ve ever had—we can trace it back to a blip in our perception, can’t we? This conundrum is so fundamental in equine realism that it’s essentially all we’ll ever wrestle with, in all its myriad forms.

Being so, our perception can alternately accelerate our growth or stall it out, so the real trick is learning how to proactively change our perception at will, and in ways that promote our goals. To do that, we have to persuade our perception to let in more options for one simple reason:

When our perception changes, everything else changes automatically. 

Think about it…how do we make mistakes? How do we get off–track? How do we miss important clues? How do our blindspots form and persist? All so unintentionally, too. It’s all in how we perceive reality, in our subject and in our clay. Learn to perceive things differently, and we discover new options beyond our old ones, and perhaps even things previously invisible to us will start to pop out, too. It just takes is a shift in our view, a creative parallax.

"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."
~ Wayne Dyer

All this means something else, too, doesn’t it? Yep—our perception also doesn’t necessarily tell us the truth. It’s easy to forget that our perception feeds us edited, even false information because to us, our reality is simply self–apparent. It’s undeniable to us, and that’s a problem. To get it to tell us the truth, our perception has to be specifically schooled and kept in check with such things as calipers, measurements, references, and artistic exercises. 

It’s not all that surprising though, is it? We may have the smarts, talent, drive, and resources to create great art, but these things could never hold us back, could they? They’re creative rocket fuel, not a wet towel! So it's in how we use those fuel canisters that determines our progress, and that alchemy only ignites in our perception.

This is exactly why we may use different tools, methods, or materials, but still make the same mistakes. It’s why we may know key concepts, but still fail to demonstrate them our clay. We can be provided with clear visuals, but still blunder instruction. Or on the flip side, we can sculpt a wonderful piece out of butter or soap! Again, knowing and doing are two very different things, particularly when it comes to translating what we think is reality in our clay. 

Because that's all we ever work with, isn't it? What we think is reality? Everything, right down to picking our favorite tools, is a manifestation of what we perceive reality to be. All we’ll ever have at our disposal, instill in our clay, glean from references, detect in our subject, impart to one another, deduce and absorb…everything…it all derives only from our perception.

That may seem a bit unnerving at first, but never fear! This one tiny insight lets us jumpstart any number of breakthroughs at any time! How? Well, it tells us that all our undermining problems have nothing to do with our knowledge base, experience, talents, achievements, assets, or skillset. How could they? If they did, we would’ve rooted them out in short order, right? No, they exist only in our perception—and that’s good news! It means we aren’t inadequate, incapable, or untalented. We simply have a way of seeing things that needs a bit of adjustment, and that’s totally doable. So let’s explore the nature of our perception a bit so we can learn how to retrain it, starting with this: 

Our perception operates in a vacuum, the hard–wired, closed feedback loop of our own headspace. 

That’s a biggie! Our perception is unable to perceive any other reality other than its own. Training can make it more open and absorbing, but ultimately it exists within its own reality bubble. What tells us the nature of things? What tells us what’s worthwhile and what’s dismissible? What convinces us our version of reality is right? What tells us that others are wrong? What decides the improvement we need, or whether we need improvement at all? Our perception. It’s the root of everything we do, think and feel, simultaneously pulling our strings while convincing us they’re the best strings ever.

"I used to think that the brain was the most wonderful organ in my body. Then I realized what was telling me this."
~ Emo Phillips

This you–colored world inside your head and this me–colored world inside my head are the only way we interpret the world around us. We each represent a self–reinforcing, complete universe, a unique convincing reality. And that’s a lot of realities!

For these reasons, altering our perception takes hard work. Our chosen art form asks for as much objective reality as we can muster, and make no mistake—objective reality exists. We can take measurements and run comparative tests. Don't we compare our work to the real thing to determine its believability? And the more objective our work, the more of a direct comparison we can make. This brings us to another critical insight: 

When we compare our work to reality, what we’re really doing is comparing our perception of reality to our work. 

Consider that for a moment. At the very least, it means we can’t take anything for granted. Yet, by definition, everything we apply to our sculpture is subjective, gleaned from an edited interpretation of reality. Just another Catch–22! But the handy thing about realism is that we can compare our work against the living animal, thanks to field study, reference photos, calipers, rulers, protractors, diagrams, and sketches. These help us get our work closer to reality, and they help train our perception to key in on more realistic characteristics. The more we engage these resources then, the better we train our perception.

It’s also useful to ponder what our perception is processing. What aspects come to the fore, what grabs our eye, or stirs our inspiration? What fades into the background? What do we gloss over? When we consciously think about what we’re doing, we can reveal unconscious tendencies. For instance, turning references and charts upside down can produce a “fresh” view. Or we can look at our sculpture “backwards” in a mirror, or the cold objectivity of a camera lens can give us a new view as well. It’s also a helpful exercise to use many reference photos of the same movement and angle to discover what’s different between them as well as what’s the same. In doing this, we find the anatomical patterns, but also glean individual eccentricities of flesh and hide that could add interest to our sculpture.

On that note, an untrained perception does bear some key traits, and keeping a lookout for them can help us gain traction in our own development. For example, an unschooled perception is often unevenly developed, perhaps adept at one aspect of the body, but less careful in others. In other words, the attention and skill exhibited in the piece isn’t consistent throughout. For instance, the head can be more often the focus of attention whereas portions of the body are less carefully executed.

There can also be an abundance of blindspots and self–sabotaging habits. These can manifest as anatomical or proportional errors, or sometimes the technique used isn’t finessed enough to produce good results. For instance, a disproportionally large head may be present, or body parts aren't sculpted with the accurate “equine–ness” required. Workmanship hiccups are common, too, since the forest tends to get lost with the trees. For instance, prepping relics are still present, or “pilling” can occur in manes and tails. More often than not, errors occur as a constellation rather than just as one problem. 

An untrained perception often falls into regimentation, as the pattern recognition response has been allowed to take over (which we’ll talk about later). Nature is messy and spontaneous, and as an untrained perception tries to make sense of it, it can unconsciously fall into habit and formula. For example, muscling can take on a habitual, clinical look, like it was lifted directly from an anatomy chart. Or the sculpting of manes and tails lacks the necessary serendipity, looking more like contrived crop rows.

Additionally, an untrained perception can only see what it expects to see, and nothing more. In a sense then, it gets stuck in a rut. This will make a body of work homogenized and repetitive as the same habits and formulas are reapplied to every piece, despite what the individual sculpture may actually require.

In contrast, however, a trained perception will mediate all these tendencies to allow novel information into the equation, making each sculpture singular and fresh within a body of work. The portfolio is varied, demonstrating a firm grasp of equine structure, and a firmer grasp of serendipity. The quality, style, and skill exhibited in each piece is consistent throughout, too, with every inch given the same careful attention. Overall, the collection demonstrates how the artist “went the extra mile,” having been pulled into a positive feedback loop of discovery and exploration by a perception enthusiastically fed by curiosity and novelty.

TEA TIME WITH THE BUNNY

Let’s sip on these ideas and consider how they apply to our work then next time we’ll discuss three facets of perception that work in tandem to open it up to new possibilities. Developing an inclusive perception, rather than an exclusive one, isn’t as hard as one may think. It just takes some simple shifts in how we look at things, and anyone can learn how to do this at will.

So until next time…drink up!

“Learn to poke around. Take your time. Go slow. Get down on your hands and knees and dig around. Sit in one place for an hour at a time and let the world come to you.”
~ John Bates

Recommended Resources

LOOKS CAN DECEIVE: WHY PERCEPTION AND REALITY DON'T ALWAYS MATCH UP, Christof Koch.

UNDERSTANDING CONFLICT AND WAR: VOL. 1: THE DYNAMIC PSYCHOLOGICAL FIELD; PERCEPTION AND REALITY, R. J. Rummel

'MIND'S EYE' INFLUENCES VISUAL PERCEPTION, Pearson et al.

PERCEPTION IS REALITY, Dr. Jennifer Paweleck-Bellingrodt

THE HUMAN DILEMMA; LIFE BETWEEN ILLUSION AND REALITY, Ben G. Yacobi

WALKING THE TIGHTROPE; THE UNREALITY OF REALISM, Sarah Minkiewicz-Breunig, (RESS article)

THE METHOD, THE MADNESS AND THE MYSTERY, ongoing blog series, Sarah Minkiewicz-Breunig

PART II

What's Reality Between A Couple of Friends…And a Bunny? Part 1