By Brian D’Ambrosio
More than 30 years ago, David DeStefano left the Philadelphia area to attend art school in New Mexico. He was living in the hinterlands between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, nothing more luxurious than a couple of kerosene lanterns and an outhouse. Still, it was there that he realized sculpture was his mission.
Hiking near Grants, he found a few pieces of native stone, and he tossed them into the bed of a friend’s truck. He bought chisels and flats and heavy mallets. With a simple idea in his head, he drew a shape on the stone. What happened next was mystical: a slow-moving lightning bolt flashed into his field of vision, an experience similar to what one describes after hitting their head and seeing stars.
“I picked up the hammer and chisel, and I saw fireworks and light, and it was like an explosion,” DeStefano said, running his fingers along the base of a small marble horse, his hands sanding gingerly, his nose covered in sawdust.
“It felt like I knew what I was doing and had an aptitude for it. It felt familiar. Like carving bars of soap when I was 3, begging mom for bars of Ivory soap and a butter knife, and eating my carrots in a way where I was making a figure. I’ve never looked elsewhere to put my creativity and thought.”
At the time of this epiphany, he had been employed as a phlebotomist, but he would ditch that line of work to focus exclusively on sculpture. He would never second-guess his decision, dedicating himself to a life he knew would likely be marked by the leanest of times and tightest of spots.
“I decided to make sacrifices,” he said. “I knew I had to go to the place where I could barely have enough to pay life expenses but where I could spend all of the time carving. “
Today, he lives out of a small garage on a cul-de-sac off of an industrial side street in Santa Fe. Sculpture has never been steadily prosperous, though a good sale allows him to catch up on his bills and to buy more stones and tools.
“The most expensive ingredient for me as a stone sculptor is time,” DeStefano said. “Cost of living expenses are secondary to the ability to have time. Sell a buffalo and you eat for a few months, a rabbit for a few days. I have financial concerns all of the time, but it is in service of trying to do something that is important to me.”
DeStefano doesn’t have a signature style or trademark. His pieces range from abstract, to literal, to experimental. They also span all sizes, from circular jewelry stones that fit in the palm of your hand, to a 15-foot-tall female figure with exposed skeletal sections.
DeStefano says he is at his best when he can shed the notions of time and self and the wanderings and wonderings of the mind.
“Sculpture is about the impermanence of whatever this existence is,” he said. “(When creating), I am no longer David DeStefano but a fellow with tools in his hands, perceptive, disavowing mind-made concepts.”
There is a huge spectrum of possibilities that can be achieved with stone, which is part of the reason DeStefano rarely repeats himself. He’s primarily interested in learning about what he hasn’t yet been exposed to, as well as exploring infinite designs.
His love of art and form cannot be traced to his home life or New Jersey upbringing but rather his own inquisitive nature. He said his family didn’t have any appreciation for the humanities or classic artists, such as Leonardo Da Vinci or Michelangelo, but that he has nevertheless always been interested in the mystery of life – what art, philosophy and religion can reveal.
DeStefano said that the stone itself shows him what its own true nature is – supple and forgiving, or perhaps recalcitrant and jaded – and that one of the biggest thrills of carving is discovering this reality and then working in unison with the material.
“It is a gamble of the heart, with no guarantee,” DeStefano said. “It is exploration. It is an adventure.”
He understands that not everyone sees things as he does: Some people love sculpture and are open to seeking deeper engagement; others just don’t see the majesty or splendor and are in and out of his studio in minutes.
“The survival of the species doesn’t depend on sculptures being made,” he said. “Why do we put so much time and energy into things that ultimately that our survival isn’t dependent on? Maybe because sculpture is a small fragment of the universe, and it makes us want to know more.”
