04F-12 (October 23)
A few stars are bright enough to show beyond the streetlights. Winter came on in a rainy rush this time, instead of a succession of escalating drizzly days. Only a few days have passed since the last time I was here. I wonder what he has tonight.
I'd swear that dragon is alive. It seems that every time I see the door its pose has changed. Tonight it seems to have an almost secret smile. I got attacked by a ten-ounce tiger that last time. I wonder what's in store tonight.
Warily I open the door. It seems safe. I walk in.
"Hold on a minute."
"No hurry."
I walk on, looking for new pictures on the well-covered walls.
I never saw him coming. One moment all is calm, the next I see a small cat sliding across the floor.
It's a good thing kittens are small. In this case his idea was weightier than his own mass and he didn't realize that, in order to reach the foot on the ground he had to get past the foot stepping forward. Fortunately my bare foot wasn't moving very fast and he is unhurt, if a bit dazed.
"Hey, little cat. I'm sorry."
He looks as if he doesn't believe me. It's hard for me not to laugh because he now looks like an animated dust kitten, with curls of wood shavings for added effect.
"I see. It's my fault. I'm supposed to see through the table and plan my whole life around watching out for you."
"Talking to yourself?"
"No. I just knocked your new friend into orbit and he's blaming me because I'm neither clairvoyant nor telepathic. I believe he's undamaged."
"Kittens are made of rubber. He'll take it out on me later. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I don't know. You called me. Remember?"
"Oh, yes. That other problem of yours. Come on back."
We walk to the workroom past projects variously complete. It's always hard to tell which way these are going, donating parts for new projects, or getting built. Then he picks up and hands me an odd-shaped little wooden thing.
"There you go. Your wish is my design."
I look at it more closely. It's a box with sloping ends. The bottom is open, but covered with black screen. "It's too shallow for sand. Oh, I get it! A screen for water, for use when there's a lot of junk in the ocean. Junk, of course, being defined as anything that doesn't belong in a sand sculpture."
"Right. You were talking about how well the Rectascreenus B worked, but you now had a problem with the water because the Rectascreenus was too coarse to remove those irritating bits."
"Yes. This looks as if it will fit right on top of the Rectascreenus. And it's very nicely made."
"Thank you. It started out as a quick little experiment made with scrap lumber, but I got carried away. Maybe it was your comment about the sloppy Rectascreenus that goaded me on."
He's smiling. I'm still a little sorry; it's hard to tell where teasing ends and hurt begins. "Thank you for making this. I'll test it tomorrow. With any luck there'll be lots of seaweed in the water. Now I don't have to worry about it!"
Build number: 04F-12 (lifetime start #294); monolith on short riser (and 04P-3)
Title: "Hidden and Obvious"
Date: October 23
Location: Venice Breakwater, isthmus point
Start: 0900, construction time 7.5 hours (approx)
Size: 42" tall, 21" diameter (Latchform), immersion screened sand (see comments)
Helpers: Andy Raffalski
Digital Images: 19, with Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, completion
Video motion: introduction, atmosphere, walkaround; with Canon XL1
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: Waterscreen, tapered wood frame with window screen bottom
Comments: Bottom foot of sand was native. Next two feet was native and imported low-tide, mixed in the screen. Top 6 inches was all imported.
"Do you have your beer, man?"
"No. I forgot." Too many, many too many, things on my mind.
"We have to go back and get it." Nate takes a hard right onto a side street. I decant a bottle of Chimay into a Nalgene bottle but only half of it fits due to foam. I awkwardly get into the car, juggling two bottles, the keys and my own tired and recalcitrant body.
"Killer Shrimp. I've been looking forward to this ever since we got back," Debbie says.
"Lincoln's going nowhere. Take a right here, on California."
"Can I just sort of creep along here and then sneak the right?"
"Fine with me." I'll accept anything. I'm already tired, the work week having been simply too much. Demands on demands. I would have cancelled the sculpture but for a well-timed phone call.
"Larry."
"Hi. This is Andy. I'm still at work. I just wanted to confirm the sculpture plans."
"Nine o'clock, on the beach."
"Sounds good. Do you want me to meet you at your place?"
"No. Unless you want to walk or borrow a bike. My kit is all loaded and ready to go."
"Larry, always self-sufficient."
The crash of thoughts this comment brings on reduces me to silence. I forget to tell him that I've tried using a car to transport my equipment, but the last little leg from parking lot to beach requires multiple trips and thus isn't worth it. "Yah. Best thing is to just meet me on the beach." Oh, boy, real live help!
"Is there anything I need to bring?"
"Food. Sand sculptors never turn down food."
"OK. I'll see you there."
"Great."
The night is cool.
"No line!" Debbie says. The last time we had to wait.
We walk up and find a table well warmed by a radiant heater. I open my bootleg bottle. Above us a few stars manage to cut through the city glare.
"That smells good." Chimay is strong.
Our food arrives, shrimp in a spicy sauce. They only serve one thing but it's always good.
They're remarkably easy to talk to. What makes this happen? From the time I met him we've had good conversation, and when I met Debbie I realized it was one of those rare matches when all the forces are balanced, neither one dominating, neither dragging back on the other.
"You're a dragon, too?"
"Yes. That means you're either 40, or 28, and I don't believe 40." Nate gives me a high-five. "Debbie's a tiger."
"That's probably why she gets along so well with you. Only a tiger could keep a dragon under some control."
"What are the characteristics of dragons?" Debbie asks.
"Creative," I say.
"Passionate," Nate adds.
Conversation continues. Real live friendship amid the plastic hustle of the glittering city. The food disappears, and we get some pie to share.
"I want more shrimp," Nate says. He and Debbie shared a bowl.
"Next time." We pick up and I somehow manage to remember the Chimay bottle, empty now, its destabilizing influence gone to my feet.
"Your camera is there beside you," Nate says as the car idles in front of my apartment.
"Oh, yes. If I can figure out how to get out of the car, I'll take it." Cumulative fatigue and beer make this more difficult than it should be. They drive off with a wave of hands. It's much too late.
The next morning, despite sunlight coming through the windows, feels too early. But the tide won't wait. I load up and on a whim add the camcorder to the kit. It's ready to go. Might as well use it.
Under a few inches of dry sand the beach is still wet from the rain earlier in the week, making it much easier to pull the trailer to the waterside. As usual after the first storm, the beach is thickly littered. I find a clean spot and set up, and then fill a bucket with trash picked up in clearing the area around where I'll work.
Andy walks up as I'm making the sculpture's sokkel. I add a couple of inches to this in case I've misjudged the tide.
"Good morning."
"Hi, Larry."
I set the form on the sokkel and then set up the Rectascreenus B and the Waterscreen. Then I get out the video camera, brought mainly because it was still on the floor where I'd left it in last night's fatigued stupor. In the interest of reducing life clutter I've been leaving it behind for the last couple of years, ever since I bought the digital still camera. It takes little time to remember how to use it, and I shoot the environment and then do an introduction to the new equipment. Then it's time to go to work.
"How dirty do you want to get?"
"Anything. What do you need me to do?"
"Can you get some more water, please?"
"Sure."
I finish the sokkel and then set the form on top.
"Now I shovel in some sand to seal the bottom. Otherwise the water will undermine the form."
"I see."
I move the sand to the periphery and then load some into the Rectascreenus B.
"Now we get to the real purpose for today's sculpture: testing the Waterscreen." I put it on top of the Rectascreenus and then pour in most of a bucket of water. The water is cleaner than it was the last time so the screen doesn't catch much, but the funnel shape makes it easier to hit.
"You have to be careful at this stage. It's easy to undercut the form." I pull the screen out and tamp the sand. "After this it's easier."
We go on. Andy fetches water and loads the screen with sand, handing me what I need as I pack.
Then I notice that the tide has dropped far enough to expose good sand. "Let's try an experiment. Let's get some good sand and add it to this. Usually I make layers of good sand, but that causes problems with carving. This time I want to try mixing it."
"How will you do that?"
"Just put it in the screen, with the coarse native sand. Let the water do the mixing."
We walk over and dig two buckets of fine sand. I should have brought the cart; carrying sand is something I never want to do again.
"Put in a couple scoops of fine sand, and then a couple of shovelfuls of the coarse. About three to one ought to do it." My main thought is to highlight the sculpture's laminae; the native sand lacks much of the dark material that contributes to strong horizons. Purely decorative. Maybe it'll also aid the strength, but I'm not counting on that.
We go on, fetching more fine sand when necessary. Then I succumb to temptation and make the last six inches of the pile with pure good sand. This always causes headaches in carving but I can't resist.
"I want to try another experiment. Put a scoop or two of sand in the Waterscreen." We're near the top. This is always a problem because the screen displaces water, and I'm thinking that the smaller Waterscreen might make this less of a problem. It does work, but the small size means it's slow. A good idea, but needs more thought. I use up the last of the sand by putting it into the Rectascreenus, whose coarse mesh allows the sand to come out easily so there's less splashing. The form is full right to the top.
"Now, do you want to learn how to do no-tools sand sculpture?"
"Sure."
"Come on over here." We walk to the fine-sand borrow pit. "Usually I have to start the hole from scratch, but we'll just use what's already here. You take a handful of this dripping wet sand and plop it onto the beach, then pat it out to smooth it. Keep the top flat, and pat it until the water is gone. You don't have to hit it hard. Just pat it." I demonstrate, and Andy is soon involved with building his own.
"No, keep the top flat. And you don't need to hit it so hard." Side by side we build. "You can add on, if you want. Like this. Just build the new right next to the old. And when you're ready to carve, you just find mussel shells or clamshells." I demonstrate this, but Andy's attention is all on his sculpture. He has a small shell and is completely concentrated. I return to the main project.
Andy comes over to watch the peeling.
"This is why I like this form so much." I pop the latches open and the form splits, falling away from the sand.
"That's great."
I can see even in this rough state the point where we started mixing in the better sand. Visible, yes, but how will it carve?
Basic trimming quickly brings an answer. The top part carves like fine sand, the next two feet like good coarse sand, and the lowest foot is soft. The center portion is a true hybrid of fine and coarse, which is more than I expected. It carves consistently, with none of the problems of separate layers of fine and coarse.
The original idea was for an open-top sculpture, a U-shaped plan to catch light in the tall column. I'd carve the wall into curlicues and filigree. The beautiful sand in the top of this pile is too much to resist, so I revert to a closed-top idea and that has repercussions all the way down the cylinder. Heavy tops require support.
Andy is over to the south, working on his free-piled sculpture. My half-finished piece is beside it. I'm shooting from the hip, the short day not allowing much time for contemplation, although I do take little breaks now and then to view the whole piece.
I like some of what I see. The interior is shaping up very well, with a more three-dimensional look than the simple perforated curtains I've done before. This one has pieces going in and out.
Despite eating regularly I'm still running short of energy. Too much work, too little sleep, too much going on.
"I think that's it for the major work. It's time for clean-up." The tide has turned around and risen, forcing an end to Andy's carving. When the tide hits your toes, free-piling is done. I have the luxury of more time.
The result is hardly a revolution, but it is a solid step forward. Tool, technique and design have all moved forward. The mixed-sand approach worked well.
I amble around, looking. "Thanks for the pudding, Andy."
"No problem."
He made rice pudding with bananas and put it in portable containers. Perfect beach food: tasty calories in a format that doesn't attract sand.
A man walks up to me. "I've seen many of your sculptures. I always like seeing them here. Thank you for adding beauty to the beach."
"You're welcome." And I get a warm feeling. God made me a sculptor. Another woman, passing by earlier in the day, had said that the ability to make the sculpture had to be a gift from God.
The man says "Thank you" again and then heads on his way. I finish the pudding.
Restored, partially, I do the photography. The sculpture's shadow is long.
"Larry, I have to go," Andy says.
"Thanks for your help. And the food."
"You're welcome." He heads off across the cooling sand.
"I'm not going to last much longer," Rich says. "It's getting cold."
I've put on the jacket that Carlos, my ex-co-worker gave me at his promotion breakfast. While not my style it cuts the wind and keeps the shivers at bay.
"Now that the woman with the loud radio has left, I'm going to shoot a walkaround." I shoulder the video camera and try to hold it steady as I walk sideways. This used to be a regular occurrence, but got deleted from the schedule by lack of energy left at the end of the day. Everything goes into the sculpture.
"There. That'll do it. I'd like to wait for sunset, but I'm spent."
Rich and I drag the trailer off the beach. We have to stop to rest occasionally because I put too much weight at the front and we're holding that up.
"I need to come up with a better way to do this. Maybe a new cart that would hold everything, and some sort of ramp or carrier than would hold the whole assembly on the trailer. Leave the trailer with the bike and just take the cart down here."
"Or an axle assembly for the beach wheels."
"I thought about that. Seems a hassle, though. How to get them under the trailer?"
We finally make it to my bike.
"Thanks for your help, Rich. I'll keep you posted on plans."
"Good. Fare you well."
He walks away to his car. I wobble off northward to home and a hot shower.
This time I'm prepared. I open the door with its etched sand dragon and poke the stick through. Its end has a string tied on. I jiggle it like a lure, and soon enough there's a strike, a little furred bullet from under the bench.
"Oh, I like that idea. Maybe he'll spare my legs. Can I have it?"
"Sure. I figured you'd already have one, carved by hand from exotic wood."
He laughs. "I never had the time to make it."
I move the string around and the kitten's eyes follow it, fascinated. He crouches, his tail twitches and then he springs to the attack. I move it just in time and he takes a flying leap to catch the end, coming down triumphant.
"Quick, he is."
"Yes. Well, I'm here to tell you the Waterscreen is a great success. It even works outside its specification. Makes a good small sand filter. It's a good addition to my kit. Thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Of course, I found its limits. If I pour the water in too fast, it splashes out and any junk on the screen gets carried out with it. But if I pour the water from the right place it works well, and I don't have to be so careful because it's a bigger target."
"Maybe some baffles against splash."
The kitten is panting. He has been chasing the string back and forth across the shop all through the conversation. "Peace, friend?" I reach down a finger. He comes to sniff and then rubs his head against my hand.
"You've made it to the Inner Circle."
"That's good, considering the amount of time I spend in this place. We have to get along." We both laugh.
2004 October 24
Toolmaker story #12 (Waterscreen)
I'd swear that dragon is alive. It seems that every time I see the door its pose has changed. Tonight it seems to have an almost secret smile. I got attacked by a ten-ounce tiger that last time. I wonder what's in store tonight.
Warily I open the door. It seems safe. I walk in.
"Hold on a minute."
"No hurry."
I walk on, looking for new pictures on the well-covered walls.
I never saw him coming. One moment all is calm, the next I see a small cat sliding across the floor.
It's a good thing kittens are small. In this case his idea was weightier than his own mass and he didn't realize that, in order to reach the foot on the ground he had to get past the foot stepping forward. Fortunately my bare foot wasn't moving very fast and he is unhurt, if a bit dazed.
"Hey, little cat. I'm sorry."
He looks as if he doesn't believe me. It's hard for me not to laugh because he now looks like an animated dust kitten, with curls of wood shavings for added effect.
"I see. It's my fault. I'm supposed to see through the table and plan my whole life around watching out for you."
"Talking to yourself?"
"No. I just knocked your new friend into orbit and he's blaming me because I'm neither clairvoyant nor telepathic. I believe he's undamaged."
"Kittens are made of rubber. He'll take it out on me later. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I don't know. You called me. Remember?"
"Oh, yes. That other problem of yours. Come on back."
We walk to the workroom past projects variously complete. It's always hard to tell which way these are going, donating parts for new projects, or getting built. Then he picks up and hands me an odd-shaped little wooden thing.
"There you go. Your wish is my design."
I look at it more closely. It's a box with sloping ends. The bottom is open, but covered with black screen. "It's too shallow for sand. Oh, I get it! A screen for water, for use when there's a lot of junk in the ocean. Junk, of course, being defined as anything that doesn't belong in a sand sculpture."
"Right. You were talking about how well the Rectascreenus B worked, but you now had a problem with the water because the Rectascreenus was too coarse to remove those irritating bits."
"Yes. This looks as if it will fit right on top of the Rectascreenus. And it's very nicely made."
"Thank you. It started out as a quick little experiment made with scrap lumber, but I got carried away. Maybe it was your comment about the sloppy Rectascreenus that goaded me on."
He's smiling. I'm still a little sorry; it's hard to tell where teasing ends and hurt begins. "Thank you for making this. I'll test it tomorrow. With any luck there'll be lots of seaweed in the water. Now I don't have to worry about it!"
Build number: 04F-12 (lifetime start #294); monolith on short riser (and 04P-3)
Title: "Hidden and Obvious"
Date: October 23
Location: Venice Breakwater, isthmus point
Start: 0900, construction time 7.5 hours (approx)
Size: 42" tall, 21" diameter (Latchform), immersion screened sand (see comments)
Helpers: Andy Raffalski
Digital Images: 19, with Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, completion
Video motion: introduction, atmosphere, walkaround; with Canon XL1
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: Waterscreen, tapered wood frame with window screen bottom
Comments: Bottom foot of sand was native. Next two feet was native and imported low-tide, mixed in the screen. Top 6 inches was all imported.
"Do you have your beer, man?"
"No. I forgot." Too many, many too many, things on my mind.
"We have to go back and get it." Nate takes a hard right onto a side street. I decant a bottle of Chimay into a Nalgene bottle but only half of it fits due to foam. I awkwardly get into the car, juggling two bottles, the keys and my own tired and recalcitrant body.
"Killer Shrimp. I've been looking forward to this ever since we got back," Debbie says.
"Lincoln's going nowhere. Take a right here, on California."
"Can I just sort of creep along here and then sneak the right?"
"Fine with me." I'll accept anything. I'm already tired, the work week having been simply too much. Demands on demands. I would have cancelled the sculpture but for a well-timed phone call.
"Larry."
"Hi. This is Andy. I'm still at work. I just wanted to confirm the sculpture plans."
"Nine o'clock, on the beach."
"Sounds good. Do you want me to meet you at your place?"
"No. Unless you want to walk or borrow a bike. My kit is all loaded and ready to go."
"Larry, always self-sufficient."
The crash of thoughts this comment brings on reduces me to silence. I forget to tell him that I've tried using a car to transport my equipment, but the last little leg from parking lot to beach requires multiple trips and thus isn't worth it. "Yah. Best thing is to just meet me on the beach." Oh, boy, real live help!
"Is there anything I need to bring?"
"Food. Sand sculptors never turn down food."
"OK. I'll see you there."
"Great."
The night is cool.
"No line!" Debbie says. The last time we had to wait.
We walk up and find a table well warmed by a radiant heater. I open my bootleg bottle. Above us a few stars manage to cut through the city glare.
"That smells good." Chimay is strong.
Our food arrives, shrimp in a spicy sauce. They only serve one thing but it's always good.
They're remarkably easy to talk to. What makes this happen? From the time I met him we've had good conversation, and when I met Debbie I realized it was one of those rare matches when all the forces are balanced, neither one dominating, neither dragging back on the other.
"You're a dragon, too?"
"Yes. That means you're either 40, or 28, and I don't believe 40." Nate gives me a high-five. "Debbie's a tiger."
"That's probably why she gets along so well with you. Only a tiger could keep a dragon under some control."
"What are the characteristics of dragons?" Debbie asks.
"Creative," I say.
"Passionate," Nate adds.
Conversation continues. Real live friendship amid the plastic hustle of the glittering city. The food disappears, and we get some pie to share.
"I want more shrimp," Nate says. He and Debbie shared a bowl.
"Next time." We pick up and I somehow manage to remember the Chimay bottle, empty now, its destabilizing influence gone to my feet.
"Your camera is there beside you," Nate says as the car idles in front of my apartment.
"Oh, yes. If I can figure out how to get out of the car, I'll take it." Cumulative fatigue and beer make this more difficult than it should be. They drive off with a wave of hands. It's much too late.
The next morning, despite sunlight coming through the windows, feels too early. But the tide won't wait. I load up and on a whim add the camcorder to the kit. It's ready to go. Might as well use it.
Under a few inches of dry sand the beach is still wet from the rain earlier in the week, making it much easier to pull the trailer to the waterside. As usual after the first storm, the beach is thickly littered. I find a clean spot and set up, and then fill a bucket with trash picked up in clearing the area around where I'll work.
Andy walks up as I'm making the sculpture's sokkel. I add a couple of inches to this in case I've misjudged the tide.
"Good morning."
"Hi, Larry."
I set the form on the sokkel and then set up the Rectascreenus B and the Waterscreen. Then I get out the video camera, brought mainly because it was still on the floor where I'd left it in last night's fatigued stupor. In the interest of reducing life clutter I've been leaving it behind for the last couple of years, ever since I bought the digital still camera. It takes little time to remember how to use it, and I shoot the environment and then do an introduction to the new equipment. Then it's time to go to work.
"How dirty do you want to get?"
"Anything. What do you need me to do?"
"Can you get some more water, please?"
"Sure."
I finish the sokkel and then set the form on top.
"Now I shovel in some sand to seal the bottom. Otherwise the water will undermine the form."
"I see."
I move the sand to the periphery and then load some into the Rectascreenus B.
"Now we get to the real purpose for today's sculpture: testing the Waterscreen." I put it on top of the Rectascreenus and then pour in most of a bucket of water. The water is cleaner than it was the last time so the screen doesn't catch much, but the funnel shape makes it easier to hit.
"You have to be careful at this stage. It's easy to undercut the form." I pull the screen out and tamp the sand. "After this it's easier."
We go on. Andy fetches water and loads the screen with sand, handing me what I need as I pack.
Then I notice that the tide has dropped far enough to expose good sand. "Let's try an experiment. Let's get some good sand and add it to this. Usually I make layers of good sand, but that causes problems with carving. This time I want to try mixing it."
"How will you do that?"
"Just put it in the screen, with the coarse native sand. Let the water do the mixing."
We walk over and dig two buckets of fine sand. I should have brought the cart; carrying sand is something I never want to do again.
"Put in a couple scoops of fine sand, and then a couple of shovelfuls of the coarse. About three to one ought to do it." My main thought is to highlight the sculpture's laminae; the native sand lacks much of the dark material that contributes to strong horizons. Purely decorative. Maybe it'll also aid the strength, but I'm not counting on that.
We go on, fetching more fine sand when necessary. Then I succumb to temptation and make the last six inches of the pile with pure good sand. This always causes headaches in carving but I can't resist.
"I want to try another experiment. Put a scoop or two of sand in the Waterscreen." We're near the top. This is always a problem because the screen displaces water, and I'm thinking that the smaller Waterscreen might make this less of a problem. It does work, but the small size means it's slow. A good idea, but needs more thought. I use up the last of the sand by putting it into the Rectascreenus, whose coarse mesh allows the sand to come out easily so there's less splashing. The form is full right to the top.
"Now, do you want to learn how to do no-tools sand sculpture?"
"Sure."
"Come on over here." We walk to the fine-sand borrow pit. "Usually I have to start the hole from scratch, but we'll just use what's already here. You take a handful of this dripping wet sand and plop it onto the beach, then pat it out to smooth it. Keep the top flat, and pat it until the water is gone. You don't have to hit it hard. Just pat it." I demonstrate, and Andy is soon involved with building his own.
"No, keep the top flat. And you don't need to hit it so hard." Side by side we build. "You can add on, if you want. Like this. Just build the new right next to the old. And when you're ready to carve, you just find mussel shells or clamshells." I demonstrate this, but Andy's attention is all on his sculpture. He has a small shell and is completely concentrated. I return to the main project.
Andy comes over to watch the peeling.
"This is why I like this form so much." I pop the latches open and the form splits, falling away from the sand.
"That's great."
I can see even in this rough state the point where we started mixing in the better sand. Visible, yes, but how will it carve?
Basic trimming quickly brings an answer. The top part carves like fine sand, the next two feet like good coarse sand, and the lowest foot is soft. The center portion is a true hybrid of fine and coarse, which is more than I expected. It carves consistently, with none of the problems of separate layers of fine and coarse.
The original idea was for an open-top sculpture, a U-shaped plan to catch light in the tall column. I'd carve the wall into curlicues and filigree. The beautiful sand in the top of this pile is too much to resist, so I revert to a closed-top idea and that has repercussions all the way down the cylinder. Heavy tops require support.
Andy is over to the south, working on his free-piled sculpture. My half-finished piece is beside it. I'm shooting from the hip, the short day not allowing much time for contemplation, although I do take little breaks now and then to view the whole piece.
I like some of what I see. The interior is shaping up very well, with a more three-dimensional look than the simple perforated curtains I've done before. This one has pieces going in and out.
Despite eating regularly I'm still running short of energy. Too much work, too little sleep, too much going on.
"I think that's it for the major work. It's time for clean-up." The tide has turned around and risen, forcing an end to Andy's carving. When the tide hits your toes, free-piling is done. I have the luxury of more time.
The result is hardly a revolution, but it is a solid step forward. Tool, technique and design have all moved forward. The mixed-sand approach worked well.
I amble around, looking. "Thanks for the pudding, Andy."
"No problem."
He made rice pudding with bananas and put it in portable containers. Perfect beach food: tasty calories in a format that doesn't attract sand.
A man walks up to me. "I've seen many of your sculptures. I always like seeing them here. Thank you for adding beauty to the beach."
"You're welcome." And I get a warm feeling. God made me a sculptor. Another woman, passing by earlier in the day, had said that the ability to make the sculpture had to be a gift from God.
The man says "Thank you" again and then heads on his way. I finish the pudding.
Restored, partially, I do the photography. The sculpture's shadow is long.
"Larry, I have to go," Andy says.
"Thanks for your help. And the food."
"You're welcome." He heads off across the cooling sand.
"I'm not going to last much longer," Rich says. "It's getting cold."
I've put on the jacket that Carlos, my ex-co-worker gave me at his promotion breakfast. While not my style it cuts the wind and keeps the shivers at bay.
"Now that the woman with the loud radio has left, I'm going to shoot a walkaround." I shoulder the video camera and try to hold it steady as I walk sideways. This used to be a regular occurrence, but got deleted from the schedule by lack of energy left at the end of the day. Everything goes into the sculpture.
"There. That'll do it. I'd like to wait for sunset, but I'm spent."
Rich and I drag the trailer off the beach. We have to stop to rest occasionally because I put too much weight at the front and we're holding that up.
"I need to come up with a better way to do this. Maybe a new cart that would hold everything, and some sort of ramp or carrier than would hold the whole assembly on the trailer. Leave the trailer with the bike and just take the cart down here."
"Or an axle assembly for the beach wheels."
"I thought about that. Seems a hassle, though. How to get them under the trailer?"
We finally make it to my bike.
"Thanks for your help, Rich. I'll keep you posted on plans."
"Good. Fare you well."
He walks away to his car. I wobble off northward to home and a hot shower.
This time I'm prepared. I open the door with its etched sand dragon and poke the stick through. Its end has a string tied on. I jiggle it like a lure, and soon enough there's a strike, a little furred bullet from under the bench.
"Oh, I like that idea. Maybe he'll spare my legs. Can I have it?"
"Sure. I figured you'd already have one, carved by hand from exotic wood."
He laughs. "I never had the time to make it."
I move the string around and the kitten's eyes follow it, fascinated. He crouches, his tail twitches and then he springs to the attack. I move it just in time and he takes a flying leap to catch the end, coming down triumphant.
"Quick, he is."
"Yes. Well, I'm here to tell you the Waterscreen is a great success. It even works outside its specification. Makes a good small sand filter. It's a good addition to my kit. Thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Of course, I found its limits. If I pour the water in too fast, it splashes out and any junk on the screen gets carried out with it. But if I pour the water from the right place it works well, and I don't have to be so careful because it's a bigger target."
"Maybe some baffles against splash."
The kitten is panting. He has been chasing the string back and forth across the shop all through the conversation. "Peace, friend?" I reach down a finger. He comes to sniff and then rubs his head against my hand.
"You've made it to the Inner Circle."
"That's good, considering the amount of time I spend in this place. We have to get along." We both laugh.
2004 October 24
Toolmaker story #12 (Waterscreen)
# © 1765 by Larry @ 
