There was a sculptor who built things and worlds through her imagination with the aid of hard work and magic chants. Sculptures appeared as part of nature; some of her creations were mistaken for strange trees that were living. She was called a god because whatever she created lived and reproduced. She believed she was the creator of her own world. Whatever images she made, danced, spoke, asked questions, and fought wars. Paintings large and small were scattered in the forest, sculptures that grew like living things transformed into life forms she never anticipated. She asked questions about her work but never judged how the sculptures would turn out aesthetically, as if the statue said what it wanted to be. It was their judgments that were important, not the sculptor herself. The sculptures had come to life; she thought of them as people, although the statues didn’t always look like people. Knowing what she was doing, she combined clay, wood, chemicals, and metal to produce a living thing. The forms were born into physical existence for the first time. It wasn’t the old metaphor of a piece of art staring at the observer that transferred its feelings. The thing was actually living; it was naive and had to learn about the world like a newborn child. She became the mother of her works. As she arranged parts of a sculpture together, never intended as a copy of nature, it was like an abstract. It pulsated and moved with hesitation, feeling the world for the first time. It grew and became its own; she spoke to it. She only sometimes knew if the creations could talk; they responded with innocence, asking what the world was and who it was, and it was confusing. It asked more questions about its place in the universe. With intuition, she knew as a teacher what she had to do. 

Through working with large machines, she built mega architectural-like structures with some assistants. Who were the assistants? They were her own human-like sculptural creations. The architectural sculptures roamed like giant mammoths across the distant landscapes. The compositions allied with the sun to draw new shadow structures across the ground that suggested new ideas to her. Large structures were a challenge to her, but tiny objects were equally daunting as they required specialized tools, magnifiers, and even a microscope. She called them sculptural insects. They came to life and crawled around her room; their colors had made them look like flowers in spring. 

The extraordinary powers in her gifted hands created the living force in her sculptures. She was not exactly human, but she appeared human because she, too, seemed like her creation. Parts of her were machine-like, of course, human, fish, ape-like. Another part of her was plant or tree-like. She was part of a race of beings assembled from all parts of nature and machines. Her name was Tatain, and she was known as the wizard of sculpture because not everyone of her race had such abilities. 

The sculptures Tatain created enriched her world. Perhaps no other mythical world could touch hers.