Metal Brought to Life: Horsin’ Around & Tatanka
Life has a way of changing our path in an instant.
For years, my Uncle Kenny and Uncle Harold—both master welders and dedicated teachers—encouraged me to build a metal sculpture. They believed the challenge would sharpen my welding skills and teach me to see steel in a whole new way. The more they encouraged me, the more I hesitated.
When I unexpectedly lost my Uncle Kenny in a vehicle accident, I realized I had missed the opportunity to learn from one of the best. His legacy lives on through the largest American Navy Seabees sculpture, now displayed at a U.S. Naval base, but his knowledge and mentorship could never be replaced.
Determined not to let time slip away again, I finally accepted the challenge with the guidance of my Uncle Harold. I chose to create a horse, inspired by Buddy—the finest horse I've ever owned and my trusted Standardbred driving companion.
They were both right. Building Horsin' Around became more than a sculpture; it became a journey of growth, humility, and perspective.
Before the sculpture was finished, I lost my Uncle Harold as well.
His mentorship ended far too soon, but the lessons he shared continue to shape my work and remind me that our greatest legacy is the time we invest in others. Every piece I create carries a part of that lesson forward.
Horsin’ Around
Horsin' Around got its name from my cousin, Tim, the son of my Uncle Harold, after he learned about the project his dad was helping me create.
The sculpture's life-size proportions were taken directly from my horse, Buddy, with the help of my three granddaughters. From there, the real learning began—understanding perspective, creating balance, building the framework, selecting the right welding rods for different metals, and countless other lessons along the way.
One of my favorite parts of the journey was searching the scrap yard for just the right pieces, discovering where they belonged, and finding the balance between anatomical accuracy and artistic expression. Those were the very challenges that had once intimidated me, but they quickly became the parts I enjoyed most.
What I didn't expect was how much this experience would change me. Through every success and every setback, I discovered the joy of creating, honored a promise to my uncles, and found a new passion.
I also never imagined that sculpting Buddy would become a way to keep his spirit close. Since completing Horsin' Around, I've had to say goodbye to my faithful companion.
Rest in peace, Buddy. Thank you for every mile, every memory, and for inspiring a sculpture that will forever remind me of your gentle loyalty.
Tatanka
Tatanka was inspired by another special friend of mine, Loren—my self-proclaimed "sidewalk critic." He spent countless hours watching the progress of Horsin' Around, never hesitating to point out what didn't look quite right or needed another look. His honesty, humor, and encouragement made him an important part of the journey.
Loren loved bison and often insisted my next sculpture should be one. After many conversations over cups of strong black coffee, the idea took root. My daughter, Amber Jae, helped make it possible by arranging a visit to a full-size taxidermy bison in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where we gathered the measurements and reference needed to begin.
From there, Tatanka came to life through months of searching for meaningful reclaimed metal, building a frame strong enough to be moved with a Bobcat, and cutting more than 128 feet of crane cable into thousands of strands to create the bison's massive coat. I also learned from my first sculpture, building this one from the ground up instead of the top down—and thankfully avoiding setting myself on fire this time.
Loren was there every step of the way, offering advice, sharing old metal treasures he'd collected over the years, and making sure I never settled for "good enough." About eleven months into the project, his terminal cancer returned. Finishing Tatanka while he could still see it became my goal.
His final visit to the shop came when the sculpture was about 80% complete. We sat together on the porch, talking about far more than welding or bison. That afternoon remains one of my most treasured memories.
Today, every time I look at Tatanka standing proudly on our farm beneath the American flag, I'm reminded of Loren's humor, wisdom, and friendship. True friends who challenge us, encourage us, and aren't afraid to speak honestly are a rare gift.
And yes—for the official record—I welded the John Deere wrenches into the sculpture, even though Loren insisted they were too valuable to use.
Inside Tatanka is a deep blue glass orb, placed there in honor of my brothers and sisters in blue—a small tribute that carries great meaning.