When Your Mentor Dies…
George Pratt died on April 30, 2025. He was my mentor and the reason I have been able to call being a fine art stone sculptor my vocation.
People often ask me “How did you get into being a stone sculptor?!” My reply is there is a why and a how. The why is Michelangelo. The how is George Pratt. Over the years, George and I remained colleagues and friends, often sharing a sculpture we were particularly proud of, or news of a significant commission one had received. We had a history of sharing studio and gallery space together, producing exhibitions where we showed side by side and even developed a series of sculpture teaching courses.
In the summer of 1980, I was at a crossroads. My childhood dream of becoming an architect had evaporated after two years of university, wherein I realized formal education was not in my DNA. So what to do? I was fortunate to have an epiphany during an on-site art history course in Florence, Italy that Spring, where I encountered Michelangelo’s unfinished “Captive” marble sculptures at the Accademia delle Belle Arti. I discovered I could see images inside stone. When I returned home, I sought the tutelage of George Pratt.
George had been in office furniture sales with my late uncle, Paul Binkley and George turned his hobby as a stone carver into a vocation in the late 1970s. By 1980, he had a rustic studio on the north shore of False Creek, in the shadow of the Granville Street Bridge in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Because of the family connection, George knew of my 2D artistic talents, so when I asked if I could spend the summer in his studio just to learn some basics, George agreed.
That summer, I got hooked. George not only instructed me on many aspects of carving various types of stone, but he (more importantly) taught me how to sell the artworks I was learning to make. George was not only a talented artist – he was a consummate salesman. My uncle described George’s sales abilities as “frightening”. And this was my biggest takeaway – learning how to be a self-represented artist. That summer turned into 5 years of sharing studio and gallery space with George. I not only honed my sculpting talents, but also my sales talents. George taught me how to produce and execute my own exhibitions, and the best practice for self-representation in tandem with third party representation.
We had to vacate the studio and humble showroom we built, as Expo ’86 was being built on the site. From 1982 – 85, we shared a new location on West 1st Ave., near the entrance to Granville Island. We had a studio in the back and a lovely gallery in the front. In the spring of 1985, George astutely realized it was time for me to set out on my own. I was understandably upset at being “kicked out”, but in retrospect, George was right. And I never looked back.
I’ve been blessed with being able to do what I love, but call it work for the past 45 years. Not many can say they “play” every day and get paid for it. But it has all been possible because George Pratt said “yes”.
On May 1, I sent George an email, asking how he was and shared a photo of a new abstract I had just finished and was quite chuffed with. I then got into my grubby clothes and began the (what I feel is boring) task of hand sanding the machine marks out of my next sculpture. All that morning, George’s voice was in my head, encouraging me on and reminding me of his lesson of what he called the “fair curve”. This is what is achieved from the laborious task of hand sanding, as the result is a continuous curve that only the viewer’s hand can sense. It is what makes a good sculpture into a great one. At lunch break, George’s daughter Nancy had left a tearful voiemail that George had died the day before. I realized George has stopped by to say goodbye to me on his way to the Great Beyond.
I will miss him….