I was looking at a chipped statue that has a small hole where a leg used to be, and it made me think about how a missing part in a sculpture is like a pause in music. Have you ever noticed the way a silence can carry a whole story?

You’re right, the gap really does become a note in its own right, like a pause that the rest of the work must stretch to fill. I always notice how the missing leg forces a new angle, a new shadow on the surface, a subtle shift in the light that wasn't there before. It’s almost like the stone itself is improvising, but I keep a very precise eye on every micro‑crack, because even that tiny shift can tell a different story.