Torso Project Casting at 38 Weeks

We had a fun time doing a casting this past Saturday. Here are some photos…

leah-cast 1

leah cast 2

7 Responses to “Torso Project Casting at 38 Weeks”

  1. Canton & Leah Says:

    Thanks Julie! We had a really fun time during the casting process, and your energy & optimism and radiance were hugely appreciated during this particularly huge stage in our process…

    Very much looking forward to seeing the final casts,

    – Canton & Leah

  2. admin Says:

    Welcome to Benjamin Aisai Becker, Leah and Canton’s new baby born on February 12th! We wish him every blessing and send all our best wishes to this beautiful new family!

  3. admin Says:

    Julie here, from In the Family Way. I’ll have to learn how to mount photos so Benjamin can be properly introduced, and I can keep you up to date on the Torso Project… We now have a “mother mold” of Leah and will have the concrete cast soon – altogether exciting!

    I have a recent poem to share with you all about my son – hope you enjoy it!

    Quill at Twelve

    In these starting throes of
    your coming of age,
    I remember your birth,
    how time contracted and froze
    in the fierce haze of each push.
    Brushing your damp hair back
    as you cry, I remember
    its whorls and licks then,
    in the first moments of life.
    Tenderly, I held you and prayed
    for you to take to life with passion,
    and awaken in a world eager
    to receive your gifts.
    Little did I know!
    Now your changing moods
    rock our world night and day.
    And yet, eagerly, Papa and I
    wake each morning
    to see what new part of you
    has been born in your dreams.

  4. phoebe shaw Says:

    oh sweets
    that poem.

    love you.


  5. Shoshana Says:


    I’m truly inspired by you and your work for this wonderful project.
    And deeply touched by your poem about Quill. You are a gifted poet.
    Looking forward to seeing you soon at CQI.

    Love, Shoshana

  6. phoebe shaw Says:

    Heres’s a wonderful piece to share on parenting by Anna Quindlen, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist:

    All my babies are gone now. I say this not in
    sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction
    in what I have today: three almost-adults, two
    taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people
    who read the same books I do and have learned not to
    be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of
    them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me
    laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades
    and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their
    doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go
    to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food
    from plate to mouth all by themselves.

    Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom
    with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is
    buried deep within each, barely discernible except
    through the unreliable haze of the past.

    Everything in all the books I once pored over is
    finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry
    Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry
    and sleeping through the night and early-childhood
    education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight
    Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are
    battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if
    you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

    What those books taught me, finally, and what
    the women on the playground taught me, and the
    well-meaning relations taught me, was that they
    couldn’t really teach me very much at all.

    Raising children is presented at first as a
    true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until
    finally, far along, you realize that it is an
    endless essay. No one knows anything. One child
    responds well to positive reinforcement, another can
    be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout.
    One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

    When my first child was born, parents were told
    to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not
    choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last
    arrived, babies were put down on their backs because
    of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a
    new parent this ever-shifting certainty is
    terrifying, and then soothing.

    Eventually you must learn to trust yourself.
    Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15
    years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton’s
    wonderful books on child development, in which he
    describes three different sorts of infants: average,
    quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet
    codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was
    there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was
    there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was
    he developmentally delayed, physically challenged?
    Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year
    he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can
    walk, too.

    Every part of raising children is humbling, too.
    Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been
    enshrined in the “Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of
    Fame.” The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad
    language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell
    off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool
    pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer
    camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out
    of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test,
    and I responded, What did you get wrong? (She
    insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at
    the McDonald’s drive-through speaker and then drove
    away without picking it up from the window. (They
    all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them
    to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons.
    What was I thinking?

    But the biggest mistake I made is the one that
    most of us make while doing this. I did not live in
    the moment enough. This is particularly clear now
    that the moment is gone, captured only in

    There is one picture of the three of them,
    sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the
    swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I
    wish I could remember what we ate, and what we
    talked about, and how they sounded, and how they
    looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not
    been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing:
    dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the
    doing a little more and the getting it done a little

    Even today I’m not sure what worked and what
    didn’t, what was me and what was simply life. When
    they were very small, I suppose I thought someday
    they would become who they were because of what I’d
    done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true
    selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that
    I back off and let them be.

    The books said to be relaxed and I was often
    tense; matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the
    top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with
    the three people I like best in the world, who have
    done more than anyone to excavate my essential

    That’s what the books never told me. I was bound
    and determined to learn from the experts. It just
    took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

  7. admin Says:

    Thanks so much for sharing this with us!
    Beautiful and all so true!

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