Having abandoned the plinth, as we were required to do, as serious sculptors, it is with some trepidation and anxiety too, to make a plinth to better show a work.
It is only a workmanlike task after all, nothing to dwell upon, or take to heart. There is no scope for a more complicated relationship. It is material. To be placed in order, one step following another, no more than walking.
Like making a cake, or a bed, the satisfaction of stepping back to be able to declare the job done. It is not a shame to smother a sculpture on it, for which it was designed.
It is not.