This story of the repopulation of the earth after the big flood from Ovid's Metamorphoses resonates for me and my big bronze figures which to me feel like they are made of stone.

... They set out;
they veil their heads, they both ungird their clothes:
and they throw stones behind them as they go.
And yes (if those of old did not attest
the tale I tell you now, who could accept
its truth?), the stones began to lose their hardness;
they softened slowly and, in softening,
changed form.  Their mass grew greater and their nature
more tender; one could see the dim beginning
of human forms, still rough and inexact,
the kind of likeness that a statue has
when one has just begun to block the marble.
Those parts that bore some moisture from the earth
became the flesh; whereas the solid parts--
whatever could not bend-- became the bones.
What had been veins remained, with the same name.
And since the gods had willed it so, quite soon
the stones the man had thrown were changed to men,
and those the woman cast took women's forms.
From this, our race is tough, tenacious; we
work hard-- proof of our stony ancestry.

--Ovid, Deucalion and Pyrrha story from the Penguin edition of Metamorphoses