The idea hit me six years ago during my first visit to the Soviet Union. I had gone with my son, Mark, and a group of about 20 people out of San Francisco. It was during the high point of Ronald Reagan's "evil empire" rhetoric, and I was struggling for a way to make a difference in a world where it seemed no single person could.

I remember walking outside the Pioneer Palace in Moscow, a facility structured by the Communist Party for children to participate in dance, music and art activities. I had just spoken to a group of young children in an art class and had left with a feeling of both elation and, at the same time, frustration, acutely aware of the similarity of human aspirations, and yet the often unnecessary gulf of miscommunication that typically separates us from one another.I began to realize what I wanted to achieve at some future time, though at the moment it seemed all but impossible in the climate of mistrust that had existed for decades. I wanted to create a sculpture that would symbolize unity and brotherhood and to have two castings made of it, one to place in an American community and another to be placed in a community somewhere in the Soviet Union.

Though I didn't realize it it at the time, it was a project made to order for the international sister cities organization.

After returning home, I went about my business for the next couple of years, but the idea never left me. About three years later, during the monthlong visit of Slava and Irina from Kiev, the concept crystallized.

I was driving home to Highland from Salt Lake City one day when in my mind I suddenly saw the image of two little girls kneeling and facing each other, their arms extended. In the outstretched fingers of one was the opening position of cat's cradle, the string game where patterns in a loop of string are passed from one person's hands to another.

I have always been intrigued with children's games, their origins and more subtle meanings. I knew that differing versions of string games are played all over the world, from the South Seas to Europe to the northernmost climes of Eskimo culture. There are versions where the patterns can become extremely complex, like the seemingly complex and insurmountable problems of our age.

The images of children working together to solve a problem, yet doing so in a spirit of play and interaction, seemed perfect for the sculpture I had dreamed of in Moscow years earlier.

But were Russians familiar with the game? I was anxious to find out. When I arrived home, I went into the utility room and got a piece of string, tied it in a loop and walked into the kitchen where I could hear Veloy and Irina conversing in their odd mix of Russian, English and hand gestures.

"Excuse me," I said holding up the familiar first pattern of cat's cradle, and I held it out toward Irina, at the same time almost dying of anticipation.

For a few seconds she just looked at the string in an air of quizzical confusion. Then, suddenly, she smiled and said, "Ahh," and reached out with both hands, her fingers delicately intertwining with the string as she looped it over her own fingers and took it out of my hands in the second pattern. We didn't go any further than that. Not just because of my jubilation but because I couldn't remember where to go next. My memories from grade school had faded.

At any rate, I began working immediately on a small wax model and was pleased with the outcome. In the next year or two, a sister city relationship was adopted between Salt Lake City and Chernivtsi, in Ukraine. I became acquainted with Boyer Jarvis, chairman of the Committee for American-Soviet Relations, an organization founded by Lowell and Jane Turner. They had just returned from Ukraine, having solidified the sister city relationship between the two communities. The next year, 1990, Chernivtsi's first delegation came to Salt Lake City, and many will recall that Chernivtsi's Mayor Kaspruk rode in the 24th of July parade that year.

To make a long story short, the Utah Committee for American-Soviet Relations paid for the casting of the sculptures, the first of which was unveiled in Salt Lake's International Peace Gardens in the summer of 1991.

In February of this year, the second sculpture for Chernivtsi was shipped along with a load of humanitarian supplies to Ukraine, and just a few weeks ago on May 19 it was unveiled during a visit of another delegation from Salt Lake City, headed by Jane Turner and Rosemary Holt. Veloy and I were fortunate to be present.

It was a wonderful experience. The sculpture was placed in front of the new youth center in Chernivtsi, located in the building where the old Communist Party Education Center was located up until the dramatic changes of last fall.

When we came around the corner of the building for the unveiling, we were met by several hundred schoolchildren who began singing "America the Beautiful" for the 18 people who had come from Salt Lake City. The sculpture was dedicated to the memory of Mayor Kaspruk and Lowell Turner, both of whom had died since the project was started but who had been so influential in encouraging relationships between the two cities, not always in a climate as positive as we were now reaping.

After the unveiling, we were treated to a tour of the Children's Center, where old communist administrative offices had been turned into classrooms for weaving, chorus, ballet and modern dance. During a tea party upstairs, I slipped out long enough to take a few pictures of the sculpture. Garlands of lilacs, carnations and roses had been placed all around it by people during the interim. It was a special moment for me.

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A statement by Rosemary Holt, one of the leaders of the our delegation and head of Transcultural Awareness Exchange, seemed to sum up my feelings:

"Transcultural contacts that encourage the sharing of ideas and values are like stones dropped into a pond: They initiate continuing ripples of widening response. The most effective representatives of any society are those whose lives and careers touch many things, especially the minds of young people."

Like the strings of a simple children's game, each gesture we make - the willingness to be open enough to care - pen pals, sister cities, joint venture businesses, exchange student programs - whether complex or small, all are gestures that heal the wounds of whole generations and create the fragile webs of contact which slowly become community.

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