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Thomas’ sculptures inhabit space with a sense of justifiable defiance; some even stand on a pedestal, and articulate a forceful, silent will to exist. Apparently crudely prepared, knocked into shape and then somehow bolted back together again in a topsy-turvy manner, they have a strangely self-assured equanimity and the poise of a dancer. With their natural grace and unassuming ability to draw attention to themselves, they look a bit like representatives of an ancient and unfamiliar culture.

Their crudely abstract forms, these interconnected accumulations, superstructures, embody something notional. If is as if they prefigure the stage of verbal articulation. Inarticulate speech of the heart expresses this perfectly. Transfixed in space, they are a concrete manifestation of a certain set of circumstances.

Initially, each one is created out of a basic solid mass. Thomas then considers how this can be taken apart and reassembles the component parts to form a new equilibrium and an entirely different form. This is a sequence of events that occurs in several myths: in that of the Platonic spherical being, and in legends of death and renewal. It is the most dramatic story there is. Imagine this happening to you!