It’s not easy to be married to a great artist. The steely internal fortitude necessary for creating a masterful work of art isn’t always conducive to the reciprocity and mutuality of a working marriage. It’s probably no easier to be married to an author. We’re in our heads a lot. Sabin claims I spend half the time time I’m with him having a conversation with myself. A rich inner life, like anything else, has two sharp edges.
But then I get to see Sabin’s work: and it is beautiful. Beautiful like the David, like anything Praxiteles or Canova or Carpeaux or Bernini created. Beauty is its own reward. Above is the APOLLO, in pieces. I’ve seen him whole, too. He’s a feast for the mind, the eye and the heart.