When I first encountered him at 12 Vultures in Minneapolis, I felt an immediate pull to his quiet spirit. His eyes—soft but certain—met mine with a depth that asked to be seen, not just looked at. He became the second piece in my Shoulder Mount series, a challenge both physical and contemplative.
I named him Kele, a word that means “to be heard” in Setswana and “grace” in Zulu. The name felt right—this impala seemed to speak without words, to tell stories through stillness and design.
Every shoulder mount begins with the act of renewal—removing the weathered hide, mending and smoothing the form beneath until it’s ready to welcome the glimmer of new life through beadwork. With Kele, this process felt like restoring a voice. The vines and floral patterns winding down one shoulder seemed to echo his name, their rhythm like a whisper carried on the wind.
As I placed each single bugle bead, I often thought of these lines from Matthew 10: “Even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” After twenty hours or more, I long lost count of the beads—but not the meaning behind them. Each one became both a prayer and a promise that beauty lies in patient attention.