It was a simple idea at the time. I wanted, I planned, to make a snow globe sculpture called “Invisible Carousel.” I sketched it out to perfection. Frollicking giraffes and unicorns, a pig and a buffalo, all parading in a whimsical circle.
A sweet little idea, with a variety of small metal animals, each perched atop an unseen clear support, at different heights, so when viewed inside the snow globe, it would appear to be a carousel with no mechanical support. The invisible carousel. Charming. Dripping with charm.
I collected the animals I needed and began to work.
Until the Rhino.
Oh, the Rhino! Barely the size of my thumbnail, he exuded a fierce personality, completely unsuited for the sweet endless ride of a carousel. “I want adventure!” he proclaimed. “I have battles yet to fight, and honor to defend.” He refused to sit politely on a carousel post, protesting that he was too old to be ridden by a child, no matter how imaginary. He seemed to cock his rhino horn in my direction, looking as threatening as his 19 or so millimeters would allow.
How does one deny the will of the angry Rhino? Using the tiniest tools, I crafted a tiny harness of leather straps and chains, and fitted the Rhino carefully. Next, I outfitted a grand airship for him, battle-worn, but complete with bazookas and other weaponry. I hung ammo belts and tiny knife sheaths off his harness, and put torpedoes at his disposal on each side.
Go forth and fight your battles, Warrior Rhino. The carousel can ride another day.
The Warrior Rhino flies at dawn.