January 24: 04F-1
There's a report after the image assembly that will give you the story behind this piece.
Bubbling Over
"Good morning, Lord."
Right now that's more of a promise than anything else; the world is still dark outside my window. At least now I believe the promise. More or less.
I've been reading "The Purpose-Driven Life" with some co-workers. We meet on Thursdays at lunch and discuss a chapter. The current topic is what brings God pleasure, and the book brings up some interesting points. Don't tell any of your conservative friends, but it seems that God wants us to enjoy life. I'm surprised the book hasn't been banned.
"All right. It seems you don't mind me doing sand sculpture. What role would you like to have in this?" I'm a bit tetchy about having anyone mess with my designs. "But if that's what you want, well, do it." I may be slow, but I do learn. "You're invited to the party. Take what role you want." Why would he even care? "But you do care, as demonstrated in many way. Watch, guide, bring interesting people."
Christians are to be a lively part of society. The bible characterizes this as leavening in bread but this image is slow. Erwin chooses, very typically, a description technically and chemically as accurate, but that paints a more active image. Fizz. I doubt he was thinking of sand sculpture.
Build number: 04F-1 (lifetime start #283); monolith on short riser
Title: "Effervescence" (for Andy Raffalski)
Date: January 23
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0915, construction time 7 hours
Size: 40 inches tall, 21 inches diameter, immersion filtered native sand (Latchform)
Helpers: none
Digital Images: 59, with Canon Powershot G2 (includes Rich's process shots)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115 and Powershot
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none
Visitors: Milar (from Spain) and friend, Rich, David English (Burning Man)
1. Do It Yourself
I love watching Nate speak. His well-formed hands follow the tumble of words in quick movements. His face lights up and the hair hanging over his eyes can't hide their sparks. His whole upper body moves. Speech is kinetic.
He's sitting next to me. I'm post-sculptural but flying; it has been a good day. I started it by calling him in the morning.
"Debbie made some other plans, but we're not sure it will happen. If not, we'd love to join you. Hang time."
Andy is more definite. "I'll get off work about six. Be at your place around 6:30?"
"That'll work." I don't really know what will happen, but Mosaic is like everyplace else. If you want something to happen, start it.
"I'm great," Nate says, "if someone else starts it. I'll get in there," and a hand quickly slides forward, "and push. But if I'm sitting at home, it just won't occur to me to start something. This was a great idea."
Casablanca. Mosaic West. Only Andy and Nate are really alive; I'm drifting and Debbie is sick. Nate was going to come alone, but once Debbie heard that a new restaurant was involved she couldn't resist and made Nate pull her off the couch.
"I was wondering. I'm very leery of forcing my will on folks. I figure that if I don't hear from someone it means they don't want to hear from me." Encouraged by Nate's example I start waving my hands. "I already feel as if I've cut too wide a swath through this organization already." I almost knock over a water glass.
"Larry as a swath," Debbie says. The rest of the idea gets buried in noise from a birthday party.
"Not everyone is as strong as you, man."
Strong? Me? In middle name only. And yet, I got this party going. And I'm glad. The day started well and got better.
2. What Are You Doing?
The tide peaks at 6.5 feet, at 0945. It's the exact inverse of the Standard Day, which became standard due to my desire for the best pile possible. As I frequently do I simply stayed with that process. Can't do delicate sand sculpture with the coarse sand that lives up at the high tide line. An absolute problem.
Packing is packing. Techniques that work for fine sand also work for coarse, and when the multiple sculpture idea came along I didn't have time to haul in good sand for all the units. I'd use what was right there at the building site, and several sculptures into the series I finally woke up to the realization that I was carving these coarse sand piles as if they were fine. There is now no technical reason coarse sand sculpture can't be as good at the best of 1999, done with the persnickety state of the art practice that NASA inspired in me.
"What are you doing?" She has a bright smile, dark hair, animated face and curiosity written in every line.
I'd just started unloading my kit, setting up Sand Sculpture Base, my home for the rest of the day. "I'm doing a sand sculpture."
"Right here?"
"Over there." A vigorous wave rolls in and washes over the spot I've chosen.
"You need all of this stuff?"
"Yes. The big tube is my form. Buckets for water. My carving tools are in the tub behind you."
She turns around. "May I pick them up?"
"Yes." I continue setting up the table.
"These are beautiful. You make them?
"Thank you. Yes." As I'd walked past the lifeguard tower I'd seen three people standing on the deck. Now the two men come over, wondering why she's spending so much time with me. I tell them the same story as Milar looks at each of the tools.
"He makes these! Look at them! They're fantastic." She has enough enthusiasm for about five ordinary people.
"Where are you from?"
"Spain. With an American accent." There is only a hint of Spain in her speech. "I'm travelling for a year. Around the world."
"Wow. Very good. Do it now before you get sucked into commerce."
"I was going to work for a time but then saw that just that would happen. I'd never be able to travel." Yes. Play now. There will always be work to do. I'm continuing to set up my site. "We need to go get some food. How long will you be here?"
"All day. Come back around sunset. If the sculpture's still standing that's when it'll be finished."
"That long? Wow. We'll bring you some lunch."
"Great. Sand sculptors never turn down food."
They walk away toward the Boardwalk. I watch the beautiful waves curl over, shining in the late-morning sunlight, translucent blue-green.
3. Technology
Usually in coarse-sand sculpture I use the hardware cloth screen, but that stuff doesn't hold up very well and my nice new one already has holes in it. A shell caught between the frame and the wire easily breaks the latter, and then bigger items get through into the sculpture. Today I'm using the proven window-screen model. Washing the sand out of this finer screen takes longer but it's worth it. I'm going for maximum performance today.
The idea is to hollow the sculpture out and cut the sides into complex braids of space, light and sand. I like the braided look and have never used it for a whole sculpture except smaller pieces. I started thinking about this sculpture's design earlier in the week; one has to do something when stuck on a bus for 45 minutes, crawling home. The only thing worse is driving.
Third outing. Sand sculpture appeals to the purist in me. No one can possess the sculpture, no one can buy it and thereby gain some say in what I make. This is entirely up to me, stand or fall physically and artistically depending upon my skills and design sense, and when the sun sets it's over. I've always thought of it as a selfish act. I don't look beyond the sculpture itself and in the last few years this has become ever more true. I'm chasing some sort of design goal, feeling my way along. I don't know what it is, only how far I am from it.
I have no idea what will happen today. Packing can only take the sand so far. Structure here will depend heavily upon very careful engineering. One thing in my favor is that microsculpture, from which the braided design has descended, is inherently stable because it has no long unsupported parts.
In about an hour and a half the pile is ready. For most of that time waves have regularly washed around the sculpture but I planned for this, putting an ablative barrier of sand around the sculpture's sokkel. This did its job. I peel the form away and the cylinder stands on a broad, firm riser. The benefit of working through high tide is that you don't have to worry about how high it will come. Watching the tide approach a nearly completed sculpture is nervous-making; I'm famous for putting a sculpture at expected tide height plus 1 inch, drawing a line in the sand to mark where the tide will hit. Sometimes I get busted.
4. Design
Before removing the form I used the #4 Vertical Roadgrader tool to mark a line around the pile's top so that I could easily do a symmetric taper. Most of the time I guess. I cut to the line and then realize it still didn't work because the form always leans a little. So much for the easy way.
Taper is more important when working with coarse sand because I'm then assured of all the parts leaning against each other. No sand likes overhangs, but coarse sand is very intolerant as last week's sculpture proved. Yet I'm going to have to be daring at least a few times because microsculpture gives me no big holes for sand removal. Balancing the small and large elements is a big challenge for me, with highly variable results.
At least I'm designing. The last two sculptures were produced in a sort of design vacuum. I was thinking of other things. Like how much judgement I was going to get for spending time on the beach. Many people, in Mosaic and without, helped me get over that problem. Thank you, all. This one's for you., but especially for Andy because, for all his strait-laced demeanor, he has been strong in his support for this idea.
Big holes go in the front. Sculpture is really made of light, and big holes work just as well for collecting light as for exhausting sand. The pile feels soft by usual standards and is easily cut with the Bigger Loop tool. The south side will be the area I carve the braids into so I carve that wall thin, but thick enough to support the squared-off top. I also leave a rib from the east side to help hold up the roof. This will eventually turn into a series of arched supports from the bottom, but they start with small holes drilled through from the north.
Early sculptures were pure structure. Everything that didn't help hold something else up got removed. These sculptures had an honest simplicity that I still like looking at, but I can't keep making the same sculpture every time and needed ways to express more complexity. This came about with the introduction of smaller tools, and started with a long series of sculptures that were much too complicated and took 12 hours to make. All I can say about them is that I learned a lot. Now I try to express the complexity in detailed areas, but leave other areas much more simple. Now all sculptures incorporate "non-structural design elements," things put there just to look nice. Microsculpture is the highest development of this idea: lots of little holes and tightly curved lines fitting into a larger composition.
The real key is in attention to detail. Don't just make a part and leave it in a sort of random shape. Use subtle cuts to fit it in with everything else, or to suggest a relationship with some other part. Look at it three times and think about how to make it better. Walk around the sculpture and see where the parts lead.
I learned a lot from doing multiple sculptures. One was how to speed up the process so as to get two or three sculptures done. Today's single gets the benefit of fast work in roughing out the design, with time left over for detailed shaping.
The whole thing is a real delight. Alone among post-Mosaic serious sculptures, this one is beginning to cook. I can feel it. It'll be good. If it stays together. I give it another spraying to make sure. Coarse sand dries out more rapidly.
"You only need to make small holes today. I only brought little cookies."
"No problem, Rich. The whole south side is slated for little holes. I was at Trader Joe's yesterday and forgot all about cookies."
"They may be small, but I have lots."
"Speaking of which, I need some food."
"Cookies?"
"Not yet, something more substantial. Want some peanuts?"
"Sure."
When I go back to work, Rich fills me in on the details of his latest projects. He's learning Python, a new-generation programming language. The sun slowly tracks west and I estimate my progress in relation to the remaining uncarved sand. This looks good. No reason to panic. The idea is to make it come out about 45 minutes before sunset so the light's nice for photography.
Strong surf rolls in. It seems to be a longboard day. There's a shortage of pelicans, but a bird a bit smaller than a seagull, with narrower wings, fishes with quick changes of direction in the quieter water behind the breakwater, diving, turning, diving again and aborting when what it thought was a fish turns out ot be something else.
"We saw a big group of dolphins south of Santa Monica."
Rudy and his wife are back from their walk north.
"We've had our beer."
Rudy chimes in with "And now we're going for the next." They're almost home. I see them regularly here as they make their round trip.
"It's looking good."
"Thanks."
They head off. I wonder what the hurry is. The afternoon is warm, with just a little damp breeze.
5. The Effect of Improved Nutrition on Sand Sculptors
"I count 23 holes, and two fakes."
"Only one fake, Rich. That other one goes through. Look here." Everyone needs someone to keep them honest. "And that fake one won't be fake for much longer. Do you have safety shots?"
"Yes. Do you want me to take another round?"
"Go ahead." Digital cameras are great for documentation, so long as you have one person with clean hands around to do the job.
"This is fantastic! Wow!" Milar is back, with her quiet shadow.
"Thank you."
"We brought you lunch. Are you vegetarian?"
"I can be." This question usually precedes the announcement that lunch will include no meat. "I eat meat, but not a whole lot."
"Oh, good. We got you chicken." Her friend pulls a bag out of his pack and hands it to me. It's warm, which is nice now that the day is cooling off.
Force Primeval Bars are good, but only go so far. I tear into the chicken and rice. "This is great! And not just because I'm hungry."
"We got it from a tiny Indian place, over on Sepulveda. One of those family restaurants where the food is made with love."
"Tastes like it to me. Real food. What a concept."
"We thought about bringing snacks, but realized you're working hard and need something else."
"Thank you very much." I polish it off and go back to work with new vigor. "What a difference that makes. Of course, I don't know if it's the food, or your enthusiasm that makes the real difference."
"Are you finished?"
"Almost. I'm cleaning it up now, rubbing out the cusps and tool marks, refining the curves, doing final shaping. It takes forever on these microsculpture pieces." I work around and around and keep finding places I've forgotten. Finally the job is done and I put the brushes away. Picking up the Vertical Roadgrader, used here much as its namesake is, I start to smooth out the sokkel.
"Are ou finished now?"
"Not yet. I have to clean up the base area. It's not finished until I sign it! Right now I'm smoothing things out. I have a friend who does sand sculpture. I keep trying to tell him about quality control and presentation, but he hasn't gotten it yet. Just plops the sculpture on the beach with no framing. It gets lost." I pick up handfuls of sand and toss them around the base. "Now I'm randomizing the area." Finally, I build up a signature pad. "This is it. I'm signing it." I press my hands into the pad. "Done."
"Do you ever name them?"
"Sometimes. I'm thinking of calling this one 'A Gift from God.' In any case, it's 04F-1." This brings the usual laughter. "Lifetime start 283. But it isn't really. I've done something like 400 total. I keep thinking of coming up with a more rational counting scheme, but this one has the history. Arcane, yes." With food to fuel a brain that's gone into the sand my mouth just sort of runs on. I leave Rich to entertain the guests and go about photographing. From all the laughter it sounds as if he's being uproariously successful.
6. Glow
Now, this is a sculpture. It's not just a rehashing of old stuff thrown together. The audience likes it, and I like it, particularly the braided part.
"This is the best microsculpture I've done."
"Yes," Rich agrees. "It's a good one."
"How many have you seen?" Milar asks.
"He's been here for almost every one since the summer of 1995."
The sculpture takes sunlight and warms it, throwing it out through all the little holes. Curves surfaces make interesting shadows. It's all more complex than I could design, and is one of the good surprises of this kind of work. Light unwraps this carved package.
"I'm going to sign off early."
"OK, Rich. What's going on?" The sun is near the horizon. The sculpture is high enough on the beach to be out of the Breakwater's shadow.
"A concert. Chamber music. A trio, I think."
"Sounds good. Have fun!"
"Good night."
Thin clouds near the horizon attenuate the light to remnant subtlety.
"Have you ever been to Burning Man?"
I've seen this man around before, but don't know his name. "No. I've thought about it, but the desert in September? Hot. A friend of mine goes, thought, and gives it great reviews."
"I thought the same thing. Now I've been twice, and wish I'd gone the first time I heard of it. You'd like it. The people there are all your kind, doing art for nothing in the middle of the desert. 30,000 people. Black Rock City. It even has a post office."
He makes it sound so good.
The sun slips below the horizon. Thin bands of cloud light up golden. I load up my equipment and do a last tool check.
It's a good piece. Considering the sand it's made of it looks like a miracle. Coarse sand requires a very delicate touch, precise tool use done right the first time, and that little touch of something extra that holds the impossible together.
"Like what people say to their cars," Milar says. "Come on. You can do it."
"Yes. 'Just a little more, please.' I've been there."
"Look at all these people you've touched today. It's like the food made with love. It makes a difference."
Somehow I am able to see through her eyes, a hint of the way people respond.
"You've given them a gift, something they can take away a bit of."
Others have told me the same thing. For years. Why do I believe her instead of tuning out, as I have before?
I'm glad, anyway. The day winds down into darkness. Milar helps me pull the coupled sand cart-and-trailer train across the beach and watches as I arrange the load for the ride home.
"This is the first day of our trip around the world."
"I hope it goes well. I think it will. You have a good attitude."
"You've given us a good start. Thank you."
"You're quite welcome. And thank you for lunch."
They walk away, toward the Boardwalk. I strap on the last items and push the whole clumsy assemble through the windblown dry sand to the bike path.
Where does life come from? Today has been quite a gift. The normally slow ride is invigorated this night by something. Maybe the energy of all those people who add to the experience. This is why I like winter sculpture.
7. Meetings
Friday night. Lots of traffic, people determined to find someplace where they can have a good time. I wait for lights and dodge cars, finally making it onto side streets and home.
There are two messages waiting. One is Larry, the other the dentist. I wonder what Nate is doing? That Andy hasn't called probably means he'll be here. I call Nate to find out.
"Debbie's sick, man. The other thing didn't happen, so I'll be coming over alone. Where?"
"Casablanca. On the corner of Lincoln and Rose."
"Lincoln and Rose. How do I get there?" There's a pause. "Ocean Park, then south? Debbie's telling me... wait a minute." There's quiet for a bit. "OK. Debbie's coming. We'll be there at seven."
"Good." I wonder what time it is, but my mind wanders off. I should rinse out the sprayer, so I head for the garage.
"That looks like Larry Nelson"
"Yes. Hi, Andy." Forget the sprayer. "The place is a few blocks away. Do you mind walking?"
"No. A walk will be good."
I'm covered with sand. No matter. It won't be the first time the Casablanca folks have seen me this way. I pick up my wallet and we set out.
"How was the sculpture?"
"Oh, it was good. Best post-Mosaic piece I've done. Started about 4:30 this morning, with a long discussion with God about it. And a lovely day."
"That's good."
"Yah. God's message has gotten through. Even I understand a 2X4. 'I get it! I get it! Thank you!' Even I get the point eventually."
At the restaurant I tell the maitre d' that we need a table for four.
"Who are the others?"
"Nate and Debbie. I wasn't sure they'd be able to come." He sits across from me. "So, you're working as technical support at Pepperdine?"
"Yes."
"How'd you get into that?" I've worked with this man for months but know almost nothing about him, and this is why I asked him to come to dinner. For an outfit so strong on community, Mosaic seems very weak on the real operational aspect of it. I, at least, need contact beyond the organized life groups and such. Weakness or strength? Beats me. I just need it. And I know there's a story inside him. There is, too. He's pretty well into it when Nate and Debbie walk in, and the whole situation turns into a free-for-all. It's great. I just watch most of it, being too slow of mind to really keep up with three conversations.
The food is, as usual here, very good. Debbie's eyes go to half-mast.
"I think I need to take Debbie home and put her to bed."
"Something I could use."
"Thanks for suggesting this, man. It's been great."
"Thanks for coming." We part and go our ways into the night.
"We should go see if Chris is in."
"I stopped at his place on the way home from the beach, but he wasn't there." We redirect our path and hear a voice when we get there.
"Prepare to receive a deputation." I'm really losing it. He opens the door anyway.
"What are you doing here?"
"We were in the neighborhood, on our way home from dinner. I did a sculpture."
"How'd it go?"
"Very well. Very nice day."
The conversation goes on from there, with one of the highlights being Chris modelling the latest in church wear: hard hat and goggles. "Those folks really got splattered with whipped cream. And they were wearing black."
"Don't sit in the front rows."
"We should all wear hard hats Sunday."
"And aprons."
"You should have been there the day he broke the radio. He was talking about distractions, picked up a radio that was playing, and just crashed it on the ground. Parts went everywhere."
"I'm sorry I missed it."
Chris eats his dinner as we talk. He'd just gotten home from work. "Tomorrow I'm going to be reading."
"Getting the books back to the library?"
"Yes. And others. So I don't have to move them."
I'm developing ever more tendency to lean. And there's sand all over my legs, that's gradually falling onto his nice clean floor. "I think I've about had it. You two can talk all night, but I need a shower and bed."
"I should get going too," Andy says.
"Thanks for coming by. Come any time. Even after I move. Two miles south."
"OK. Good night."
Andy and I finally finish the walk home, and part when we get to his car.
"Thanks for coming over, Andy. I'm glad I got the chance to hear some of your story."
"Thanks for the invitation. It was fun."
I take the last steps home. 2230. No wonder I'm toast. But this was all worth staying up for.
2004 January 24
minor editing 2005 June 21, and converted to Web format
Bubbling Over
"Good morning, Lord."
Right now that's more of a promise than anything else; the world is still dark outside my window. At least now I believe the promise. More or less.
I've been reading "The Purpose-Driven Life" with some co-workers. We meet on Thursdays at lunch and discuss a chapter. The current topic is what brings God pleasure, and the book brings up some interesting points. Don't tell any of your conservative friends, but it seems that God wants us to enjoy life. I'm surprised the book hasn't been banned.
"All right. It seems you don't mind me doing sand sculpture. What role would you like to have in this?" I'm a bit tetchy about having anyone mess with my designs. "But if that's what you want, well, do it." I may be slow, but I do learn. "You're invited to the party. Take what role you want." Why would he even care? "But you do care, as demonstrated in many way. Watch, guide, bring interesting people."
Christians are to be a lively part of society. The bible characterizes this as leavening in bread but this image is slow. Erwin chooses, very typically, a description technically and chemically as accurate, but that paints a more active image. Fizz. I doubt he was thinking of sand sculpture.
Build number: 04F-1 (lifetime start #283); monolith on short riser
Title: "Effervescence" (for Andy Raffalski)
Date: January 23
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0915, construction time 7 hours
Size: 40 inches tall, 21 inches diameter, immersion filtered native sand (Latchform)
Helpers: none
Digital Images: 59, with Canon Powershot G2 (includes Rich's process shots)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115 and Powershot
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none
Visitors: Milar (from Spain) and friend, Rich, David English (Burning Man)
1. Do It Yourself
I love watching Nate speak. His well-formed hands follow the tumble of words in quick movements. His face lights up and the hair hanging over his eyes can't hide their sparks. His whole upper body moves. Speech is kinetic.
He's sitting next to me. I'm post-sculptural but flying; it has been a good day. I started it by calling him in the morning.
"Debbie made some other plans, but we're not sure it will happen. If not, we'd love to join you. Hang time."
Andy is more definite. "I'll get off work about six. Be at your place around 6:30?"
"That'll work." I don't really know what will happen, but Mosaic is like everyplace else. If you want something to happen, start it.
"I'm great," Nate says, "if someone else starts it. I'll get in there," and a hand quickly slides forward, "and push. But if I'm sitting at home, it just won't occur to me to start something. This was a great idea."
Casablanca. Mosaic West. Only Andy and Nate are really alive; I'm drifting and Debbie is sick. Nate was going to come alone, but once Debbie heard that a new restaurant was involved she couldn't resist and made Nate pull her off the couch.
"I was wondering. I'm very leery of forcing my will on folks. I figure that if I don't hear from someone it means they don't want to hear from me." Encouraged by Nate's example I start waving my hands. "I already feel as if I've cut too wide a swath through this organization already." I almost knock over a water glass.
"Larry as a swath," Debbie says. The rest of the idea gets buried in noise from a birthday party.
"Not everyone is as strong as you, man."
Strong? Me? In middle name only. And yet, I got this party going. And I'm glad. The day started well and got better.
2. What Are You Doing?
The tide peaks at 6.5 feet, at 0945. It's the exact inverse of the Standard Day, which became standard due to my desire for the best pile possible. As I frequently do I simply stayed with that process. Can't do delicate sand sculpture with the coarse sand that lives up at the high tide line. An absolute problem.
Packing is packing. Techniques that work for fine sand also work for coarse, and when the multiple sculpture idea came along I didn't have time to haul in good sand for all the units. I'd use what was right there at the building site, and several sculptures into the series I finally woke up to the realization that I was carving these coarse sand piles as if they were fine. There is now no technical reason coarse sand sculpture can't be as good at the best of 1999, done with the persnickety state of the art practice that NASA inspired in me.
"What are you doing?" She has a bright smile, dark hair, animated face and curiosity written in every line.
I'd just started unloading my kit, setting up Sand Sculpture Base, my home for the rest of the day. "I'm doing a sand sculpture."
"Right here?"
"Over there." A vigorous wave rolls in and washes over the spot I've chosen.
"You need all of this stuff?"
"Yes. The big tube is my form. Buckets for water. My carving tools are in the tub behind you."
She turns around. "May I pick them up?"
"Yes." I continue setting up the table.
"These are beautiful. You make them?
"Thank you. Yes." As I'd walked past the lifeguard tower I'd seen three people standing on the deck. Now the two men come over, wondering why she's spending so much time with me. I tell them the same story as Milar looks at each of the tools.
"He makes these! Look at them! They're fantastic." She has enough enthusiasm for about five ordinary people.
"Where are you from?"
"Spain. With an American accent." There is only a hint of Spain in her speech. "I'm travelling for a year. Around the world."
"Wow. Very good. Do it now before you get sucked into commerce."
"I was going to work for a time but then saw that just that would happen. I'd never be able to travel." Yes. Play now. There will always be work to do. I'm continuing to set up my site. "We need to go get some food. How long will you be here?"
"All day. Come back around sunset. If the sculpture's still standing that's when it'll be finished."
"That long? Wow. We'll bring you some lunch."
"Great. Sand sculptors never turn down food."
They walk away toward the Boardwalk. I watch the beautiful waves curl over, shining in the late-morning sunlight, translucent blue-green.
3. Technology
Usually in coarse-sand sculpture I use the hardware cloth screen, but that stuff doesn't hold up very well and my nice new one already has holes in it. A shell caught between the frame and the wire easily breaks the latter, and then bigger items get through into the sculpture. Today I'm using the proven window-screen model. Washing the sand out of this finer screen takes longer but it's worth it. I'm going for maximum performance today.
The idea is to hollow the sculpture out and cut the sides into complex braids of space, light and sand. I like the braided look and have never used it for a whole sculpture except smaller pieces. I started thinking about this sculpture's design earlier in the week; one has to do something when stuck on a bus for 45 minutes, crawling home. The only thing worse is driving.
Third outing. Sand sculpture appeals to the purist in me. No one can possess the sculpture, no one can buy it and thereby gain some say in what I make. This is entirely up to me, stand or fall physically and artistically depending upon my skills and design sense, and when the sun sets it's over. I've always thought of it as a selfish act. I don't look beyond the sculpture itself and in the last few years this has become ever more true. I'm chasing some sort of design goal, feeling my way along. I don't know what it is, only how far I am from it.
I have no idea what will happen today. Packing can only take the sand so far. Structure here will depend heavily upon very careful engineering. One thing in my favor is that microsculpture, from which the braided design has descended, is inherently stable because it has no long unsupported parts.
In about an hour and a half the pile is ready. For most of that time waves have regularly washed around the sculpture but I planned for this, putting an ablative barrier of sand around the sculpture's sokkel. This did its job. I peel the form away and the cylinder stands on a broad, firm riser. The benefit of working through high tide is that you don't have to worry about how high it will come. Watching the tide approach a nearly completed sculpture is nervous-making; I'm famous for putting a sculpture at expected tide height plus 1 inch, drawing a line in the sand to mark where the tide will hit. Sometimes I get busted.
4. Design
Before removing the form I used the #4 Vertical Roadgrader tool to mark a line around the pile's top so that I could easily do a symmetric taper. Most of the time I guess. I cut to the line and then realize it still didn't work because the form always leans a little. So much for the easy way.
Taper is more important when working with coarse sand because I'm then assured of all the parts leaning against each other. No sand likes overhangs, but coarse sand is very intolerant as last week's sculpture proved. Yet I'm going to have to be daring at least a few times because microsculpture gives me no big holes for sand removal. Balancing the small and large elements is a big challenge for me, with highly variable results.
At least I'm designing. The last two sculptures were produced in a sort of design vacuum. I was thinking of other things. Like how much judgement I was going to get for spending time on the beach. Many people, in Mosaic and without, helped me get over that problem. Thank you, all. This one's for you., but especially for Andy because, for all his strait-laced demeanor, he has been strong in his support for this idea.
Big holes go in the front. Sculpture is really made of light, and big holes work just as well for collecting light as for exhausting sand. The pile feels soft by usual standards and is easily cut with the Bigger Loop tool. The south side will be the area I carve the braids into so I carve that wall thin, but thick enough to support the squared-off top. I also leave a rib from the east side to help hold up the roof. This will eventually turn into a series of arched supports from the bottom, but they start with small holes drilled through from the north.
Early sculptures were pure structure. Everything that didn't help hold something else up got removed. These sculptures had an honest simplicity that I still like looking at, but I can't keep making the same sculpture every time and needed ways to express more complexity. This came about with the introduction of smaller tools, and started with a long series of sculptures that were much too complicated and took 12 hours to make. All I can say about them is that I learned a lot. Now I try to express the complexity in detailed areas, but leave other areas much more simple. Now all sculptures incorporate "non-structural design elements," things put there just to look nice. Microsculpture is the highest development of this idea: lots of little holes and tightly curved lines fitting into a larger composition.
The real key is in attention to detail. Don't just make a part and leave it in a sort of random shape. Use subtle cuts to fit it in with everything else, or to suggest a relationship with some other part. Look at it three times and think about how to make it better. Walk around the sculpture and see where the parts lead.
I learned a lot from doing multiple sculptures. One was how to speed up the process so as to get two or three sculptures done. Today's single gets the benefit of fast work in roughing out the design, with time left over for detailed shaping.
The whole thing is a real delight. Alone among post-Mosaic serious sculptures, this one is beginning to cook. I can feel it. It'll be good. If it stays together. I give it another spraying to make sure. Coarse sand dries out more rapidly.
"You only need to make small holes today. I only brought little cookies."
"No problem, Rich. The whole south side is slated for little holes. I was at Trader Joe's yesterday and forgot all about cookies."
"They may be small, but I have lots."
"Speaking of which, I need some food."
"Cookies?"
"Not yet, something more substantial. Want some peanuts?"
"Sure."
When I go back to work, Rich fills me in on the details of his latest projects. He's learning Python, a new-generation programming language. The sun slowly tracks west and I estimate my progress in relation to the remaining uncarved sand. This looks good. No reason to panic. The idea is to make it come out about 45 minutes before sunset so the light's nice for photography.
Strong surf rolls in. It seems to be a longboard day. There's a shortage of pelicans, but a bird a bit smaller than a seagull, with narrower wings, fishes with quick changes of direction in the quieter water behind the breakwater, diving, turning, diving again and aborting when what it thought was a fish turns out ot be something else.
"We saw a big group of dolphins south of Santa Monica."
Rudy and his wife are back from their walk north.
"We've had our beer."
Rudy chimes in with "And now we're going for the next." They're almost home. I see them regularly here as they make their round trip.
"It's looking good."
"Thanks."
They head off. I wonder what the hurry is. The afternoon is warm, with just a little damp breeze.
5. The Effect of Improved Nutrition on Sand Sculptors
"I count 23 holes, and two fakes."
"Only one fake, Rich. That other one goes through. Look here." Everyone needs someone to keep them honest. "And that fake one won't be fake for much longer. Do you have safety shots?"
"Yes. Do you want me to take another round?"
"Go ahead." Digital cameras are great for documentation, so long as you have one person with clean hands around to do the job.
"This is fantastic! Wow!" Milar is back, with her quiet shadow.
"Thank you."
"We brought you lunch. Are you vegetarian?"
"I can be." This question usually precedes the announcement that lunch will include no meat. "I eat meat, but not a whole lot."
"Oh, good. We got you chicken." Her friend pulls a bag out of his pack and hands it to me. It's warm, which is nice now that the day is cooling off.
Force Primeval Bars are good, but only go so far. I tear into the chicken and rice. "This is great! And not just because I'm hungry."
"We got it from a tiny Indian place, over on Sepulveda. One of those family restaurants where the food is made with love."
"Tastes like it to me. Real food. What a concept."
"We thought about bringing snacks, but realized you're working hard and need something else."
"Thank you very much." I polish it off and go back to work with new vigor. "What a difference that makes. Of course, I don't know if it's the food, or your enthusiasm that makes the real difference."
"Are you finished?"
"Almost. I'm cleaning it up now, rubbing out the cusps and tool marks, refining the curves, doing final shaping. It takes forever on these microsculpture pieces." I work around and around and keep finding places I've forgotten. Finally the job is done and I put the brushes away. Picking up the Vertical Roadgrader, used here much as its namesake is, I start to smooth out the sokkel.
"Are ou finished now?"
"Not yet. I have to clean up the base area. It's not finished until I sign it! Right now I'm smoothing things out. I have a friend who does sand sculpture. I keep trying to tell him about quality control and presentation, but he hasn't gotten it yet. Just plops the sculpture on the beach with no framing. It gets lost." I pick up handfuls of sand and toss them around the base. "Now I'm randomizing the area." Finally, I build up a signature pad. "This is it. I'm signing it." I press my hands into the pad. "Done."
"Do you ever name them?"
"Sometimes. I'm thinking of calling this one 'A Gift from God.' In any case, it's 04F-1." This brings the usual laughter. "Lifetime start 283. But it isn't really. I've done something like 400 total. I keep thinking of coming up with a more rational counting scheme, but this one has the history. Arcane, yes." With food to fuel a brain that's gone into the sand my mouth just sort of runs on. I leave Rich to entertain the guests and go about photographing. From all the laughter it sounds as if he's being uproariously successful.
6. Glow
Now, this is a sculpture. It's not just a rehashing of old stuff thrown together. The audience likes it, and I like it, particularly the braided part.
"This is the best microsculpture I've done."
"Yes," Rich agrees. "It's a good one."
"How many have you seen?" Milar asks.
"He's been here for almost every one since the summer of 1995."
The sculpture takes sunlight and warms it, throwing it out through all the little holes. Curves surfaces make interesting shadows. It's all more complex than I could design, and is one of the good surprises of this kind of work. Light unwraps this carved package.
"I'm going to sign off early."
"OK, Rich. What's going on?" The sun is near the horizon. The sculpture is high enough on the beach to be out of the Breakwater's shadow.
"A concert. Chamber music. A trio, I think."
"Sounds good. Have fun!"
"Good night."
Thin clouds near the horizon attenuate the light to remnant subtlety.
"Have you ever been to Burning Man?"
I've seen this man around before, but don't know his name. "No. I've thought about it, but the desert in September? Hot. A friend of mine goes, thought, and gives it great reviews."
"I thought the same thing. Now I've been twice, and wish I'd gone the first time I heard of it. You'd like it. The people there are all your kind, doing art for nothing in the middle of the desert. 30,000 people. Black Rock City. It even has a post office."
He makes it sound so good.
The sun slips below the horizon. Thin bands of cloud light up golden. I load up my equipment and do a last tool check.
It's a good piece. Considering the sand it's made of it looks like a miracle. Coarse sand requires a very delicate touch, precise tool use done right the first time, and that little touch of something extra that holds the impossible together.
"Like what people say to their cars," Milar says. "Come on. You can do it."
"Yes. 'Just a little more, please.' I've been there."
"Look at all these people you've touched today. It's like the food made with love. It makes a difference."
Somehow I am able to see through her eyes, a hint of the way people respond.
"You've given them a gift, something they can take away a bit of."
Others have told me the same thing. For years. Why do I believe her instead of tuning out, as I have before?
I'm glad, anyway. The day winds down into darkness. Milar helps me pull the coupled sand cart-and-trailer train across the beach and watches as I arrange the load for the ride home.
"This is the first day of our trip around the world."
"I hope it goes well. I think it will. You have a good attitude."
"You've given us a good start. Thank you."
"You're quite welcome. And thank you for lunch."
They walk away, toward the Boardwalk. I strap on the last items and push the whole clumsy assemble through the windblown dry sand to the bike path.
Where does life come from? Today has been quite a gift. The normally slow ride is invigorated this night by something. Maybe the energy of all those people who add to the experience. This is why I like winter sculpture.
7. Meetings
Friday night. Lots of traffic, people determined to find someplace where they can have a good time. I wait for lights and dodge cars, finally making it onto side streets and home.
There are two messages waiting. One is Larry, the other the dentist. I wonder what Nate is doing? That Andy hasn't called probably means he'll be here. I call Nate to find out.
"Debbie's sick, man. The other thing didn't happen, so I'll be coming over alone. Where?"
"Casablanca. On the corner of Lincoln and Rose."
"Lincoln and Rose. How do I get there?" There's a pause. "Ocean Park, then south? Debbie's telling me... wait a minute." There's quiet for a bit. "OK. Debbie's coming. We'll be there at seven."
"Good." I wonder what time it is, but my mind wanders off. I should rinse out the sprayer, so I head for the garage.
"That looks like Larry Nelson"
"Yes. Hi, Andy." Forget the sprayer. "The place is a few blocks away. Do you mind walking?"
"No. A walk will be good."
I'm covered with sand. No matter. It won't be the first time the Casablanca folks have seen me this way. I pick up my wallet and we set out.
"How was the sculpture?"
"Oh, it was good. Best post-Mosaic piece I've done. Started about 4:30 this morning, with a long discussion with God about it. And a lovely day."
"That's good."
"Yah. God's message has gotten through. Even I understand a 2X4. 'I get it! I get it! Thank you!' Even I get the point eventually."
At the restaurant I tell the maitre d' that we need a table for four.
"Who are the others?"
"Nate and Debbie. I wasn't sure they'd be able to come." He sits across from me. "So, you're working as technical support at Pepperdine?"
"Yes."
"How'd you get into that?" I've worked with this man for months but know almost nothing about him, and this is why I asked him to come to dinner. For an outfit so strong on community, Mosaic seems very weak on the real operational aspect of it. I, at least, need contact beyond the organized life groups and such. Weakness or strength? Beats me. I just need it. And I know there's a story inside him. There is, too. He's pretty well into it when Nate and Debbie walk in, and the whole situation turns into a free-for-all. It's great. I just watch most of it, being too slow of mind to really keep up with three conversations.
The food is, as usual here, very good. Debbie's eyes go to half-mast.
"I think I need to take Debbie home and put her to bed."
"Something I could use."
"Thanks for suggesting this, man. It's been great."
"Thanks for coming." We part and go our ways into the night.
"We should go see if Chris is in."
"I stopped at his place on the way home from the beach, but he wasn't there." We redirect our path and hear a voice when we get there.
"Prepare to receive a deputation." I'm really losing it. He opens the door anyway.
"What are you doing here?"
"We were in the neighborhood, on our way home from dinner. I did a sculpture."
"How'd it go?"
"Very well. Very nice day."
The conversation goes on from there, with one of the highlights being Chris modelling the latest in church wear: hard hat and goggles. "Those folks really got splattered with whipped cream. And they were wearing black."
"Don't sit in the front rows."
"We should all wear hard hats Sunday."
"And aprons."
"You should have been there the day he broke the radio. He was talking about distractions, picked up a radio that was playing, and just crashed it on the ground. Parts went everywhere."
"I'm sorry I missed it."
Chris eats his dinner as we talk. He'd just gotten home from work. "Tomorrow I'm going to be reading."
"Getting the books back to the library?"
"Yes. And others. So I don't have to move them."
I'm developing ever more tendency to lean. And there's sand all over my legs, that's gradually falling onto his nice clean floor. "I think I've about had it. You two can talk all night, but I need a shower and bed."
"I should get going too," Andy says.
"Thanks for coming by. Come any time. Even after I move. Two miles south."
"OK. Good night."
Andy and I finally finish the walk home, and part when we get to his car.
"Thanks for coming over, Andy. I'm glad I got the chance to hear some of your story."
"Thanks for the invitation. It was fun."
I take the last steps home. 2230. No wonder I'm toast. But this was all worth staying up for.
2004 January 24
minor editing 2005 June 21, and converted to Web format
# © 1765 by Larry @ 
