04F-11 (October 13)
The summer crowds are gone. Everyone is more relaxed. I walk over the old brick pavement; vendors in their booths wave at me. No one makes as much money at this time of year but the customers who do show up have time for conversation. This is when the real treasures are more likely to come out, rather than the more mass-market items of summer.
Golden sky-glow reflects off the etched dragon-and-sand image on the door. It still squeaks as I open it, and a couple of relaxed cats half-open their eyes as I walk in. Just past a table a ball of fur explodes from somewhere, attacks my toe, and then, having conquered its prostrate enemy, flees to dream of even greater victories. Off in the distance a bell tinkles.
"I'll be with you in a minute."
"Fine. I'm providing entertainment for your newest guardian."
"That's good. The others will get some relief. He's actually good for them." The voice wafts from the back of the shop, giving an impression of dustiness that fits the rest of the place. "They were getting fat and lazy." There is a series of light hammer-taps. "There we go. That'll do it."
I look to the top of the tallest bookcase. No one is there. The toolmaker walks into the front of the shop as I scan the high places.
"He's gone. I found him lying on the bench below the bookcase. Must have missed the jump. He'd been having difficulty with it for months. Broke his leg but still somehow managed to climb to where I would be sure to see him. He waited for me to come home, pick him up, hold him, and then he... stopped. Proud old fellow. Then, a few days later the Little Terror moved in. I think one of my enemies, I mean friends, dropped him off. He's at least kept me too busy to really miss the old one."
I'm shocked. That big grey cat was a part of the shop, with a purr that didn't come often but shook the rafters when it did. "I'm very sorry to hear that. He was a friend."
"Thank you."
"Have you gotten a good enough look at the kitten yet to figure out what he's like?"
"He does sleep occasionally. He's white, with yellow patches. Big feet. He'll settle down. The others are good teachers."
"Good."
"So, what has been going on? I haven't seen you for some time."
"Sand sculpture time got harder to come by. When you just sort of grow into something you don't realize how important it is, to you and to others. Busy with other things. I also have an equipment problem."
"What's that?" He smiles. He's a problem solver.
"Well, I have my lovely fine filter. Thank you again, by the way. That piece is holding up well and is still beautiful. But sometimes it's not the right tool. Sometimes I can't get the fine sand, so we experimented with the hardware-cloth screens."
"I remember those."
"Yah. As is usual with tools, they led to learning new things. Sand that I'd formerly thought too coarse to do anything with suddenly proved to be capable of decent sculptures. Immersion screening seemed to be the key. I won a contest with the original Quick Filter."
"OK. What's the problem?"
"Those thin wires. Even being careful, I get shells and pebbles caught between frame and screen, and that breaks the wires. A sculpture or two, and the thing starts leaking. Usually the shell is left just where I want it least."
"You've come to the right place, my friend. Follow me. And mind your toes."
The warning comes too late. I move and the Little Terror attacks. Fortunately his teeth are small. "Kittens. What can you do with 'em?"
"Wait. Time solves many problems." We laugh as we walk into the work area. "OK. There it is."
Tatters of paper dangle from a box-shaped something. Black goo covers the edges, with strings of the stuff here and there. "OK. What is it? Something you got at the half-price store, and still paid too much?"
He draws himself up. "That, O my Unenlightened Sometime Friend, is the Solution To Your Problem." I can hear the capital letters, enunciated clearly. "Look beyond the surface, you of little faith."
Normally this man produces the most elegant tools imaginable. Well, look again. "Hey, this is just the old Rectascreenus! It lasted three sculptures."
"Wrong. Look more closely."
I do so. The difference isn't obvious but it's there. "Hey! Stainless steel! And the wires are heavier."
"Right. Meet the Rectascreenus B. I was going to build a whole new one for you from scratch, but had this lying around and decided it would be quicker. Wrong. Dealing with the joints and couplings in the pipe frame is a hassle, but I was halfway into it before realizing that. So I completed it. I know it looks like something even a thrift shop would throw away, but call it a test mule. Take it, thrash it, see what breaks."
I hold it and think about its history. This is the most advanced of the PVC-framed screens that started with the Quick Filter. That one proved the concept, and begat the improved Octascreen, which was supposed to be the last word in screen technology. But if octagonal is good, then circular would be better, and that idea led to the Cercoscreenus. It was a failure dazzling in its completeness. But it was pretty to look at. Adding up the failures and successes led to the Rectascreenus, which was a great idea brought low by bad materials. Now, perhaps, that problem is finally solved.
I see a small movement in my peripheral vision and move my toe just in time. The kitten is visibly disappointed and walks off in a dusty huff.
"Oh, now you've done it. He won't quit. You've just made him mad. Determined, he is. He climbed my bare leg one day. A good argument for not using power tools."
"Right." I see a bright eye under the shop bench, and the tip of a twitching tail. Why not turn the tables? I move slowly, and then make a very quick grab. Luck or skill? Who knows. I get a handful of surprised writhing young cat, and some scratches on my wrist. But he doesn't panic. "Quite a cat. I think he'll fit in well."
"Yah. In a year or two maybe I'll get some peace."
"Does he/she have a name?"
"So, you don't like Tiny Terror?"
"Its allure is temporary. He needs a name he can grow into, that will challenge him."
"You're quite the optimist, aren't you? Your logic would lead to naming him Godzilla."
We walk back to the front. The kitten has gone to sleep in my hand, a gentle buzz against my fingers. So much energy packed into so small a creature.
"You need to come by more often. I don't have time to teach him manners like that."
"Life is settling down a little. Maybe I will have more time to visit." I look at the bookcases's top. "I think he'll fit. But we'll leave it for him to discover." I put the small cat down on a shop towel. He stretches and then becomes still again.
"I agree. Well, I hope that screen works. If it does I'll redeem myself with a nice one that matches the other."
"Thank you. I'll give you a report." I walk out into the night
Build number: 04F-11 (lifetime start #293); monolith on short riser
Title: "Love, of Course!"
Date: October 13
Location: Venice Breakwater, south side upper littoral
Start: 1030, construction time 6.5 hours
Size: 42 inches tall, 21 inches diameter, immersion screened native sand (Latchform)
Helpers: none
Digital Images: 40, with Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115; Larry, with film and digital
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: Rebuilt Rectascreenus B (new stainless steel mesh)
It's nice to be able to start a sculpture by daylight. I remove the Sand Cart and other non-essential items from the trailer, replace the fine box filter with the new Rectascreenus B, hitch up and head south. A slight sea breeze brings the scent of salt inland, cool under the midmorning sun.
In the old days I just threw the sand into the form and packed it. If shells and seaweed came along, well, what could I do? It's a natural medium. Sculptures were finished with shell-pocks filled in with loose sand, or the shells left in place.
Late in 1995, after attending a contest where the water was full of seaweed fragments, I made a screen. It was a simple wooden frame with half-inch hardware cloth held to it with cable ties.. A problem-solver at heart. A naive problem solver. The screen was a complete failure. Sand is heavy and pulled the hardware cloth apart where the wire ties went through. Also, the half-inch opening passed three-quarter inch chunks through the diagonals.
Back to the mental drawing board. I bought some quarter-inch hardware cloth and just laid it over the top of the form. This got rid of the big chunks, but required pushing the sand through by hand. Washing it through with water helped, but there's only so much water that can be used. And the shell fragments passed through were still bigger than I wanted.
OK. Eighth-inch hardware cloth would be the answer, but I couldn't find any. I did find heavy-duty window screen. I bought some and made a strong square wooden frame and attached the screen to the bottom with screws, glue and reinforcing strips of Masonite. It looked good, held up, did a marvellous job of filtering sand, but a sculpture started today would be finished sometime next week. Sand wouldn't go through this at all without water to wash it along, and the frame wasn't deep enough to hold the water. I retired this after one go.
What we need, then, is a frame deep enough to hold lots of water so it can wash the sand through instead of overflowing. I built a frame about 20 inches tall and 8 inches square, and covered its sides and bottom with the screen. I shoveled sand into it, put it inside the form and dumped in a bucket of water. It worked. Then I learned that, as long as I had about six inches of water in there, I could just move the screen around in the water and the currents would wash the sand through. Everything bigger than very coarse sand was left behind, and the resulting pile was smooth and a delight to carve.
The window screen was too fine to work with most sand. This wasn't a problem in Venice, where I could always get fine sand, but it was a problem elsewhere at contests. The solution was to quit doing contests.
Then a couple of new elements entered the picture. The first was watching a friend work with his flat screen. I'd written to him of my experiments and he found some 1/8" hardware cloth and had a local carpenter build a screen for him. His experience with this recapitulated mine: he had to push the sand through with his hand, and he'd complain about wearing his fingertips raw.
He's less fussy about sand than I am. He'd use whatever was around his building site which is why the relatively coarse screen made sense. I watched him work one day and got to wondering if an immersion-type screen, using 1/8" hardware cloth, would speed up his process.
I'd learned by this time how easy it is to build with PVC pipe so I bought some, and some hardware cloth, and in about two hours made the Quick Filter. A test sculpture showed that it worked very well. With about 15% of the work required by my fine filter I could get about 90% of the performance. Coarse sand still didn't pack as well as fine, but immersion screening made the most of what was there and the results were surprising.
The second new element was the multiple sculpture: two or more piles made and carved in one day as a group that would, if it worked, reinforce each other. At first I used unscreened sand because screening was too much work. This left the sculptures completely dependent upon how clean the sand was. When the Quick Filter came along I could control this factor and get better packing to boot.
I made the Octascreen for my friend, as an improved model Quick Filter. It wasn't quick to build, but it worked well. I was still on a roll, with new screen designs popping up in my mind. The Cercoscreenus was next, a cylinder with screen on the bottom. This taught me that screen is essential on the sides. Otherwise you end up with what's called an anchor. No water circulation, no possibility of getting the sand out. I sat down, thought about everything I'd learned, and built the Rectascreenus.
The Rectascreenus worked very well. I'd finally managed to make a new screen that worked as well as the original Quick Filter. For about three sculptures. Then I noticed more shells in the sculpture, and traced it to the delicate wires breaking. I went back to using the window screen, and discovered that, yes, coarse sand will pass through it. With work. It wasn't ideal. For coarse sand the hardware cloth couldn't be beat. But it didn't work for long. What could I do?
Search the Web. I found a place selling stainless steel mesh. Some deeper research taught me that the stainless mesh had wires about half again thicker than the hardware cloth, thus about twice as much cross-sectional area. That should be strong enough. I bought some.
During the fall the tides are usually low in the afternoon. I can't get at the good sand in the morning, when I need it. Either I work two hours to get three hours of carving, or I figure out a way to use high-tide sand, which is much coarser. I need an effective coarse sand screen, so I open the garage and visit the Toolmaker again. Thus, the Rectascreenus B, whose stainless mesh gleams in the midmorning light as I set to work. It works well. In an hour the form is full.
A familiar voice calls. I look up. It's the big yellow Headquarters truck.
"Hi, Dave."
"Hi, Larry. We haven't seen you out here for a while."
"I skipped most of the summer. My social tolerance was very low. I'm very glad we're past Labor day."
"Yes. It's great."
The day is glorious. Cool, sunny, uncrowded. "Yes. We have our beach back. What do you hear from Jim?"
"He's still out on Catalina, doing his paramedic thing. I talked to him yesterday."
Jim and Dave used to be a team, but Jim got tired of lifeguard politics and headed for a calmer place. "Well, when you see him again, tell him 'Hi' from me."
"I'll do it." He drives on north.
I peel the form away and start carving. I haven't planned this sculpture at all, its main purpose being to test the screen. I dust off an old idea for a full-height wall of filigree carving, and go to work. If we get good light toward sunset it should be pretty.
Microsculpture looks delicate, but in an engineering sense it's strong. Long, unsupported pieces are harder to make, if less spectacular. Microsculpture and coarse sand go well together.
The pile isn't well packed at the bottom. The Rectascreenus is bigger than I'm used to, so I put too much sand in each layer. They didn't pack well when hit with my lightweight tamper.
Rich comes up shortly after I start carving.
"Hi, Larry."
"Hi, Rich."
"Why are you so far back?"
"Seaweed is thick around there. The stump of last week's sculpture is still there, but I can't get across the piles of seaweed to get water." Normally I'd have re-used the stump because it's already packed. He walks around, examining the new screen and looking over this unusual site. I return to the sculpture.
Given the pile's problem, I'll just keep things more vertical and try to contain the forces. Make the top light. Leave internal supports. It's all pretty well defined when Larry walks up. I'd called him before I left the house but got his answering machine. I figured he was out for the day.
"How are you doing?"
"It's coming along. The new screen worked well. I haven't found a shell yet."
"That's good. Can you converse, or are you concentrating on the sculpture?"
It's an odd question. "Oh, I'm in good shape today. The sculpture's overall design is well along. Lots of detail work, but few major decisions. He must have something on his mind.
I keep carving while Larry tells Rich and me about his recent experiments with various kinds of meetings. One of them is called "Emotions Anonymous," which is logical but I'd never heard of it. A three-way discussion of 12-step programs goes on while I work on design problems.
In one sense the sculpture is already a success. The Rectascreenus B has proven itself effective. Now I just need to use it more, to find out how it holds up. I could have simply packed up and gone home, but why leave an uncarved pile of sand behind?
Coarse sand just isn't as satisfying to carve. It feels gritty, won't hold sharp edges or subtle details. So, be unsubtle. Big openings, and hope for good light.
"I've done some research on 12-step programs," Larry says. "Lots of books."
"And not all of them positive, I'm sure," says Rich.
This is too much for me. "As soon as something shows success, people jump all over it because it isn't perfect. Of course it's not perfect. But it's far better than nothing." I turn away from the sculpture. "12-step programs work. Not for everyone, but what does? You have to work at it." The benefit is in proportion to the amount of work you do.
"You can get a sponsor," Larry adds.
"in the Alcoholics Anonymous, I think a sponsor is required," i say.
"Here it's optional. You find someone who's been in the program longer, who's willing to work with you."
"And take your 3AM phone calls." I turn back to the sculpture. There's a lot of uncarved sand.
First I work out more details on the west side. Continuing its microsculpture theme, I carve toward the base, inside and outside. One little detail turns into a surprise, the rib I left on the inside suddenly turning into a pillar when I cut too deeply without checking first.
"Now it's time to address this side." I move around to the east.
"Yes. You have a lot of sand to carve there. Or are you going to leave it blank so that wandering people can carve their initials in it?"
"Not a chance. It's just the sacrificial side. It'll be in shade when the time for photography comes, so I'm not too concerned. Still, it needs something."
The entry exists in a slot toward the west. I start cutting the exit on the shadowed side. "I should have been there by now."
"Oh, just keep digging. You're close enough," Larry says.
"Not for tunnelling," Rich says.
"I went over." I have to angle the boring tool downward to meet the other hole. With complete concentration I can make these meet with some accuracy, but I've been paying more attention to the conversation than normal.
"I wouldn't have put that hole there," Rich says.
"Where would you have put it?"
"Over here. I knew you needed a Y-shaped hole, but not there. But where you put it it looks good."
"I guess that's why you're a singer and I'm a sculptor."
"Right."
Larry goes on talking about the 12-step group. "One thing they acknowledge is the Higher Power."
To me, He has a name. "Yes. I know that without the Holy Spirit I'd be dead right now. But you've read the stories so you know that."
"Yes," he says.
Call it weakness. The classic case that's lampooned, often and everywhere. People praising God, and saying they can't live without him. It's true. Is it really weakness if I'm still here, still living when by my own skills I'd have lost the battle?
I know I need God. Why? Love, of course. He loves me enough to have taught me what love is, at least the beginnings. I don't know how to live, but God is teaching me. My approach to life has been to skip out ahead of trouble, keep moving, one step ahead of the collapsing bridge. I don't have the resources to handle trouble so I just stay out.
So, call me whatever you want. Brain-dead Christian, wash-out, incompetent. I don't care any more about this. I know where my life has come from, and what God has done is better than anything I've done.
Here is an example, this little sculpture made of sand. God is pleased when I'm creative, using the skills that he gave me, and adding experience to them. He gives me the time to make them, the talent for the making, the interest and fascination.
Why? Love, of course.
Suddenly I realize my shadow has become very long. "I need to finish this!" I go around looking for major problems, and then start the clean-up. My little brush won't fit through the smallest holes. I work my way around and around, starting at the top, smoothing the rough spots and brushing away the surface sand and crumbs. The light turns golden behind me, across a beach made wider by the low tide. Pelicans have been fishing just offshore of the breakwater all day long. Someone must have gotten on the pelican hotline and told everyone. Last year's wheeping gull is back, crying to someone for food. Sunset-watchers are coming out while people chilled by the onshore breeze are going home. I finally finish the sculpture and sign it.
"Well, it's not the best clean-up I've ever done."
"Better than some," Rich says. "It's a nice piece. Once again you pulled it together at the end."
"I like it. A few years ago I couldn't have done a sculpture like this with even the best sand."
God has even made me a better sculptor, better able to keep the sculpture's parts in mind and to see it differently so that I can connect its pieces. Is it my sculpture, or God's? It's a good question, and I have no answer as yet. It's not all that important.
The day is ending in a blaze of soft gold light that paints the sculpture's textures and contours in round dimension. It's a nice piece.
Rich finishes his photography and picks up the Red Bag of Courage. "I have to go. The executive meeting. We'll be choosing the choir's director tonight."
"OK, Rich. Thanks for coming. Good night."
A few minutes later Larry follows him. I pack up, putting buckets away and preparing the whole load for the trip home. The sun sinks.
The long western light starts to turn rosy. I shoot a few more photos. Earlier low clouds had blocked the sun but they've turned into haze that mutes the light to something friendly both to the camera and a round sculpture. By the time the sun is its width above the horizon its red disc is hardly brighter than the sky.
I ride north. The last spark disappears just before I turn inland.
2004 October 14
Rewritten October 22
Toolmaker story #11, Rectascreenus stainless steel mesh rebuild
Golden sky-glow reflects off the etched dragon-and-sand image on the door. It still squeaks as I open it, and a couple of relaxed cats half-open their eyes as I walk in. Just past a table a ball of fur explodes from somewhere, attacks my toe, and then, having conquered its prostrate enemy, flees to dream of even greater victories. Off in the distance a bell tinkles.
"I'll be with you in a minute."
"Fine. I'm providing entertainment for your newest guardian."
"That's good. The others will get some relief. He's actually good for them." The voice wafts from the back of the shop, giving an impression of dustiness that fits the rest of the place. "They were getting fat and lazy." There is a series of light hammer-taps. "There we go. That'll do it."
I look to the top of the tallest bookcase. No one is there. The toolmaker walks into the front of the shop as I scan the high places.
"He's gone. I found him lying on the bench below the bookcase. Must have missed the jump. He'd been having difficulty with it for months. Broke his leg but still somehow managed to climb to where I would be sure to see him. He waited for me to come home, pick him up, hold him, and then he... stopped. Proud old fellow. Then, a few days later the Little Terror moved in. I think one of my enemies, I mean friends, dropped him off. He's at least kept me too busy to really miss the old one."
I'm shocked. That big grey cat was a part of the shop, with a purr that didn't come often but shook the rafters when it did. "I'm very sorry to hear that. He was a friend."
"Thank you."
"Have you gotten a good enough look at the kitten yet to figure out what he's like?"
"He does sleep occasionally. He's white, with yellow patches. Big feet. He'll settle down. The others are good teachers."
"Good."
"So, what has been going on? I haven't seen you for some time."
"Sand sculpture time got harder to come by. When you just sort of grow into something you don't realize how important it is, to you and to others. Busy with other things. I also have an equipment problem."
"What's that?" He smiles. He's a problem solver.
"Well, I have my lovely fine filter. Thank you again, by the way. That piece is holding up well and is still beautiful. But sometimes it's not the right tool. Sometimes I can't get the fine sand, so we experimented with the hardware-cloth screens."
"I remember those."
"Yah. As is usual with tools, they led to learning new things. Sand that I'd formerly thought too coarse to do anything with suddenly proved to be capable of decent sculptures. Immersion screening seemed to be the key. I won a contest with the original Quick Filter."
"OK. What's the problem?"
"Those thin wires. Even being careful, I get shells and pebbles caught between frame and screen, and that breaks the wires. A sculpture or two, and the thing starts leaking. Usually the shell is left just where I want it least."
"You've come to the right place, my friend. Follow me. And mind your toes."
The warning comes too late. I move and the Little Terror attacks. Fortunately his teeth are small. "Kittens. What can you do with 'em?"
"Wait. Time solves many problems." We laugh as we walk into the work area. "OK. There it is."
Tatters of paper dangle from a box-shaped something. Black goo covers the edges, with strings of the stuff here and there. "OK. What is it? Something you got at the half-price store, and still paid too much?"
He draws himself up. "That, O my Unenlightened Sometime Friend, is the Solution To Your Problem." I can hear the capital letters, enunciated clearly. "Look beyond the surface, you of little faith."
Normally this man produces the most elegant tools imaginable. Well, look again. "Hey, this is just the old Rectascreenus! It lasted three sculptures."
"Wrong. Look more closely."
I do so. The difference isn't obvious but it's there. "Hey! Stainless steel! And the wires are heavier."
"Right. Meet the Rectascreenus B. I was going to build a whole new one for you from scratch, but had this lying around and decided it would be quicker. Wrong. Dealing with the joints and couplings in the pipe frame is a hassle, but I was halfway into it before realizing that. So I completed it. I know it looks like something even a thrift shop would throw away, but call it a test mule. Take it, thrash it, see what breaks."
I hold it and think about its history. This is the most advanced of the PVC-framed screens that started with the Quick Filter. That one proved the concept, and begat the improved Octascreen, which was supposed to be the last word in screen technology. But if octagonal is good, then circular would be better, and that idea led to the Cercoscreenus. It was a failure dazzling in its completeness. But it was pretty to look at. Adding up the failures and successes led to the Rectascreenus, which was a great idea brought low by bad materials. Now, perhaps, that problem is finally solved.
I see a small movement in my peripheral vision and move my toe just in time. The kitten is visibly disappointed and walks off in a dusty huff.
"Oh, now you've done it. He won't quit. You've just made him mad. Determined, he is. He climbed my bare leg one day. A good argument for not using power tools."
"Right." I see a bright eye under the shop bench, and the tip of a twitching tail. Why not turn the tables? I move slowly, and then make a very quick grab. Luck or skill? Who knows. I get a handful of surprised writhing young cat, and some scratches on my wrist. But he doesn't panic. "Quite a cat. I think he'll fit in well."
"Yah. In a year or two maybe I'll get some peace."
"Does he/she have a name?"
"So, you don't like Tiny Terror?"
"Its allure is temporary. He needs a name he can grow into, that will challenge him."
"You're quite the optimist, aren't you? Your logic would lead to naming him Godzilla."
We walk back to the front. The kitten has gone to sleep in my hand, a gentle buzz against my fingers. So much energy packed into so small a creature.
"You need to come by more often. I don't have time to teach him manners like that."
"Life is settling down a little. Maybe I will have more time to visit." I look at the bookcases's top. "I think he'll fit. But we'll leave it for him to discover." I put the small cat down on a shop towel. He stretches and then becomes still again.
"I agree. Well, I hope that screen works. If it does I'll redeem myself with a nice one that matches the other."
"Thank you. I'll give you a report." I walk out into the night
Build number: 04F-11 (lifetime start #293); monolith on short riser
Title: "Love, of Course!"
Date: October 13
Location: Venice Breakwater, south side upper littoral
Start: 1030, construction time 6.5 hours
Size: 42 inches tall, 21 inches diameter, immersion screened native sand (Latchform)
Helpers: none
Digital Images: 40, with Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115; Larry, with film and digital
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: Rebuilt Rectascreenus B (new stainless steel mesh)
It's nice to be able to start a sculpture by daylight. I remove the Sand Cart and other non-essential items from the trailer, replace the fine box filter with the new Rectascreenus B, hitch up and head south. A slight sea breeze brings the scent of salt inland, cool under the midmorning sun.
In the old days I just threw the sand into the form and packed it. If shells and seaweed came along, well, what could I do? It's a natural medium. Sculptures were finished with shell-pocks filled in with loose sand, or the shells left in place.
Late in 1995, after attending a contest where the water was full of seaweed fragments, I made a screen. It was a simple wooden frame with half-inch hardware cloth held to it with cable ties.. A problem-solver at heart. A naive problem solver. The screen was a complete failure. Sand is heavy and pulled the hardware cloth apart where the wire ties went through. Also, the half-inch opening passed three-quarter inch chunks through the diagonals.
Back to the mental drawing board. I bought some quarter-inch hardware cloth and just laid it over the top of the form. This got rid of the big chunks, but required pushing the sand through by hand. Washing it through with water helped, but there's only so much water that can be used. And the shell fragments passed through were still bigger than I wanted.
OK. Eighth-inch hardware cloth would be the answer, but I couldn't find any. I did find heavy-duty window screen. I bought some and made a strong square wooden frame and attached the screen to the bottom with screws, glue and reinforcing strips of Masonite. It looked good, held up, did a marvellous job of filtering sand, but a sculpture started today would be finished sometime next week. Sand wouldn't go through this at all without water to wash it along, and the frame wasn't deep enough to hold the water. I retired this after one go.
What we need, then, is a frame deep enough to hold lots of water so it can wash the sand through instead of overflowing. I built a frame about 20 inches tall and 8 inches square, and covered its sides and bottom with the screen. I shoveled sand into it, put it inside the form and dumped in a bucket of water. It worked. Then I learned that, as long as I had about six inches of water in there, I could just move the screen around in the water and the currents would wash the sand through. Everything bigger than very coarse sand was left behind, and the resulting pile was smooth and a delight to carve.
The window screen was too fine to work with most sand. This wasn't a problem in Venice, where I could always get fine sand, but it was a problem elsewhere at contests. The solution was to quit doing contests.
Then a couple of new elements entered the picture. The first was watching a friend work with his flat screen. I'd written to him of my experiments and he found some 1/8" hardware cloth and had a local carpenter build a screen for him. His experience with this recapitulated mine: he had to push the sand through with his hand, and he'd complain about wearing his fingertips raw.
He's less fussy about sand than I am. He'd use whatever was around his building site which is why the relatively coarse screen made sense. I watched him work one day and got to wondering if an immersion-type screen, using 1/8" hardware cloth, would speed up his process.
I'd learned by this time how easy it is to build with PVC pipe so I bought some, and some hardware cloth, and in about two hours made the Quick Filter. A test sculpture showed that it worked very well. With about 15% of the work required by my fine filter I could get about 90% of the performance. Coarse sand still didn't pack as well as fine, but immersion screening made the most of what was there and the results were surprising.
The second new element was the multiple sculpture: two or more piles made and carved in one day as a group that would, if it worked, reinforce each other. At first I used unscreened sand because screening was too much work. This left the sculptures completely dependent upon how clean the sand was. When the Quick Filter came along I could control this factor and get better packing to boot.
I made the Octascreen for my friend, as an improved model Quick Filter. It wasn't quick to build, but it worked well. I was still on a roll, with new screen designs popping up in my mind. The Cercoscreenus was next, a cylinder with screen on the bottom. This taught me that screen is essential on the sides. Otherwise you end up with what's called an anchor. No water circulation, no possibility of getting the sand out. I sat down, thought about everything I'd learned, and built the Rectascreenus.
The Rectascreenus worked very well. I'd finally managed to make a new screen that worked as well as the original Quick Filter. For about three sculptures. Then I noticed more shells in the sculpture, and traced it to the delicate wires breaking. I went back to using the window screen, and discovered that, yes, coarse sand will pass through it. With work. It wasn't ideal. For coarse sand the hardware cloth couldn't be beat. But it didn't work for long. What could I do?
Search the Web. I found a place selling stainless steel mesh. Some deeper research taught me that the stainless mesh had wires about half again thicker than the hardware cloth, thus about twice as much cross-sectional area. That should be strong enough. I bought some.
During the fall the tides are usually low in the afternoon. I can't get at the good sand in the morning, when I need it. Either I work two hours to get three hours of carving, or I figure out a way to use high-tide sand, which is much coarser. I need an effective coarse sand screen, so I open the garage and visit the Toolmaker again. Thus, the Rectascreenus B, whose stainless mesh gleams in the midmorning light as I set to work. It works well. In an hour the form is full.
A familiar voice calls. I look up. It's the big yellow Headquarters truck.
"Hi, Dave."
"Hi, Larry. We haven't seen you out here for a while."
"I skipped most of the summer. My social tolerance was very low. I'm very glad we're past Labor day."
"Yes. It's great."
The day is glorious. Cool, sunny, uncrowded. "Yes. We have our beach back. What do you hear from Jim?"
"He's still out on Catalina, doing his paramedic thing. I talked to him yesterday."
Jim and Dave used to be a team, but Jim got tired of lifeguard politics and headed for a calmer place. "Well, when you see him again, tell him 'Hi' from me."
"I'll do it." He drives on north.
I peel the form away and start carving. I haven't planned this sculpture at all, its main purpose being to test the screen. I dust off an old idea for a full-height wall of filigree carving, and go to work. If we get good light toward sunset it should be pretty.
Microsculpture looks delicate, but in an engineering sense it's strong. Long, unsupported pieces are harder to make, if less spectacular. Microsculpture and coarse sand go well together.
The pile isn't well packed at the bottom. The Rectascreenus is bigger than I'm used to, so I put too much sand in each layer. They didn't pack well when hit with my lightweight tamper.
Rich comes up shortly after I start carving.
"Hi, Larry."
"Hi, Rich."
"Why are you so far back?"
"Seaweed is thick around there. The stump of last week's sculpture is still there, but I can't get across the piles of seaweed to get water." Normally I'd have re-used the stump because it's already packed. He walks around, examining the new screen and looking over this unusual site. I return to the sculpture.
Given the pile's problem, I'll just keep things more vertical and try to contain the forces. Make the top light. Leave internal supports. It's all pretty well defined when Larry walks up. I'd called him before I left the house but got his answering machine. I figured he was out for the day.
"How are you doing?"
"It's coming along. The new screen worked well. I haven't found a shell yet."
"That's good. Can you converse, or are you concentrating on the sculpture?"
It's an odd question. "Oh, I'm in good shape today. The sculpture's overall design is well along. Lots of detail work, but few major decisions. He must have something on his mind.
I keep carving while Larry tells Rich and me about his recent experiments with various kinds of meetings. One of them is called "Emotions Anonymous," which is logical but I'd never heard of it. A three-way discussion of 12-step programs goes on while I work on design problems.
In one sense the sculpture is already a success. The Rectascreenus B has proven itself effective. Now I just need to use it more, to find out how it holds up. I could have simply packed up and gone home, but why leave an uncarved pile of sand behind?
Coarse sand just isn't as satisfying to carve. It feels gritty, won't hold sharp edges or subtle details. So, be unsubtle. Big openings, and hope for good light.
"I've done some research on 12-step programs," Larry says. "Lots of books."
"And not all of them positive, I'm sure," says Rich.
This is too much for me. "As soon as something shows success, people jump all over it because it isn't perfect. Of course it's not perfect. But it's far better than nothing." I turn away from the sculpture. "12-step programs work. Not for everyone, but what does? You have to work at it." The benefit is in proportion to the amount of work you do.
"You can get a sponsor," Larry adds.
"in the Alcoholics Anonymous, I think a sponsor is required," i say.
"Here it's optional. You find someone who's been in the program longer, who's willing to work with you."
"And take your 3AM phone calls." I turn back to the sculpture. There's a lot of uncarved sand.
First I work out more details on the west side. Continuing its microsculpture theme, I carve toward the base, inside and outside. One little detail turns into a surprise, the rib I left on the inside suddenly turning into a pillar when I cut too deeply without checking first.
"Now it's time to address this side." I move around to the east.
"Yes. You have a lot of sand to carve there. Or are you going to leave it blank so that wandering people can carve their initials in it?"
"Not a chance. It's just the sacrificial side. It'll be in shade when the time for photography comes, so I'm not too concerned. Still, it needs something."
The entry exists in a slot toward the west. I start cutting the exit on the shadowed side. "I should have been there by now."
"Oh, just keep digging. You're close enough," Larry says.
"Not for tunnelling," Rich says.
"I went over." I have to angle the boring tool downward to meet the other hole. With complete concentration I can make these meet with some accuracy, but I've been paying more attention to the conversation than normal.
"I wouldn't have put that hole there," Rich says.
"Where would you have put it?"
"Over here. I knew you needed a Y-shaped hole, but not there. But where you put it it looks good."
"I guess that's why you're a singer and I'm a sculptor."
"Right."
Larry goes on talking about the 12-step group. "One thing they acknowledge is the Higher Power."
To me, He has a name. "Yes. I know that without the Holy Spirit I'd be dead right now. But you've read the stories so you know that."
"Yes," he says.
Call it weakness. The classic case that's lampooned, often and everywhere. People praising God, and saying they can't live without him. It's true. Is it really weakness if I'm still here, still living when by my own skills I'd have lost the battle?
I know I need God. Why? Love, of course. He loves me enough to have taught me what love is, at least the beginnings. I don't know how to live, but God is teaching me. My approach to life has been to skip out ahead of trouble, keep moving, one step ahead of the collapsing bridge. I don't have the resources to handle trouble so I just stay out.
So, call me whatever you want. Brain-dead Christian, wash-out, incompetent. I don't care any more about this. I know where my life has come from, and what God has done is better than anything I've done.
Here is an example, this little sculpture made of sand. God is pleased when I'm creative, using the skills that he gave me, and adding experience to them. He gives me the time to make them, the talent for the making, the interest and fascination.
Why? Love, of course.
Suddenly I realize my shadow has become very long. "I need to finish this!" I go around looking for major problems, and then start the clean-up. My little brush won't fit through the smallest holes. I work my way around and around, starting at the top, smoothing the rough spots and brushing away the surface sand and crumbs. The light turns golden behind me, across a beach made wider by the low tide. Pelicans have been fishing just offshore of the breakwater all day long. Someone must have gotten on the pelican hotline and told everyone. Last year's wheeping gull is back, crying to someone for food. Sunset-watchers are coming out while people chilled by the onshore breeze are going home. I finally finish the sculpture and sign it.
"Well, it's not the best clean-up I've ever done."
"Better than some," Rich says. "It's a nice piece. Once again you pulled it together at the end."
"I like it. A few years ago I couldn't have done a sculpture like this with even the best sand."
God has even made me a better sculptor, better able to keep the sculpture's parts in mind and to see it differently so that I can connect its pieces. Is it my sculpture, or God's? It's a good question, and I have no answer as yet. It's not all that important.
The day is ending in a blaze of soft gold light that paints the sculpture's textures and contours in round dimension. It's a nice piece.
Rich finishes his photography and picks up the Red Bag of Courage. "I have to go. The executive meeting. We'll be choosing the choir's director tonight."
"OK, Rich. Thanks for coming. Good night."
A few minutes later Larry follows him. I pack up, putting buckets away and preparing the whole load for the trip home. The sun sinks.
The long western light starts to turn rosy. I shoot a few more photos. Earlier low clouds had blocked the sun but they've turned into haze that mutes the light to something friendly both to the camera and a round sculpture. By the time the sun is its width above the horizon its red disc is hardly brighter than the sky.
I ride north. The last spark disappears just before I turn inland.
2004 October 14
Rewritten October 22
Toolmaker story #11, Rectascreenus stainless steel mesh rebuild
# © 1765 by Larry @ 
