There’s something about Thimble that asks for quiet. Not silence - but the kind of space where you lean in, curious, not wanting to miss a word of what she might say if only she could speak.
Thimble took shape in a single afternoon. But it was the kind of afternoon where time forgets to pass, and the clay just seems to know where it wants to go. I wasn’t thinking of any one person or tale, just a feeling: someone who’s often overlooked but never truly out of sight. Someone who observes more than they speak. Who listens before acting. Who, when it matters, is braver than anyone expects.
The slip gave her the look of a wanderer fresh from rain or sea mist - half-wild, half-wise. Her glaze broke in all the right ways: warm where she opens up, cool where she guards herself.
She’s the type of soul I imagine living just on the edges of a village. Trusted by children. Respected by elders. A little strange. A little sacred.
Thimble reminds me that not every sculpture needs to dazzle or declare. Some are simply meant to be - to hold space, keep quiet company, and root you in a world just a bit older and more grounded than this one.
Collectors who choose her often say the same thing: “She just feels like someone I know.” And I get it. She’s familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a childhood neighbour whose name you never learned but whose presence made you feel safe.
I imagine Thimble sitting on a desk, a bedside, or a window ledge. She’s not flashy, but she draws the eye - and holds it. She invites stillness. She watches over thoughts. She gives nothing away too quickly.
And maybe that’s her secret: in a world that prizes noise, Thimble is a quiet rebellion.
Want to meet her for yourself? You’ll find Thimble waiting in the Sculpted Souls shop — small in size, rich in spirit, and ready to bring her still strength to your space.