The Year in Sand: 2003

2005-06-12T06:30:00.000-07:00

January 1: 03M-1 (2-unit formed multiple; includes report)

January 10: 03F-1 (includes report)

January 25: 03P-1, 03P-2 (informal, done while skateboarding, no photos)

January 26: 03M-2 (2-unit free-pile multiple with earthworks, no photos)

January 31: 03M-3 (2-unit free-piled, no photos)

February 1: 03P-3 (no photos)

February 8: 03F-2 (includes report)

February 15: 03M-4 (4-unit free-pile, with earthworks)

February 16: 03M-5 (2-unit free-pile, with earthworks)

February 22: 03F-3 (includes report)

March 1: 03M-6 (free-piled)

March 8: 03F-4 (includes report)

April 15-16: 03M-7 "Islands" (3-unit formed with earthworks, includes report)

May 3 sculpture plans cancelled by rain, of all things

May 9 sculpture plans cancelled by high wind

May 17: 03F-5 "Choosing to Join" (for Stef and Bert, includes report)

May 24: 03M-8 (3 units, free-piled with earthworks)

May 25: 03M-9 (3 units, free-piled with earthworks and grooves)

May 31: 03F-6 "Knock-Off" (includes report)

June 21: 03M-10 (free-piled)

July 4: 03P-4

July 6: 03M-11 (free-piled)

July 19: 03P-5

August 1: 03F-7 (includes report)

August 16: 03P-6 (simple arch on Glacier Creek sandbar, Colorado)

September 12: 03P-7 (monolith)

September 13: 03P-8 (monolith)

September 27: 03P-9 "Solid Rock" (monolith, with Keith Le)

October 4: 03P-10 (with Maurice)

October 11: 03M-12 (free-piled)

October 25: 03P-11

November 8: 03P-12

November 22: 03P-13

January 1: 03M-1

2005-06-10T12:38:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 2002 I started experimenting with multiple scupltures. I made a bunch that year and continued the pattern into 2003, although I was beginning to understand that the multiple wouldn't work well without more time.

The report for this sculpture follows the images.

Keeping an Appointment

"Good evening."
"Hi." The big grey cat walks back and forth between my legs, making walking difficult. He's a cat. He doesn't care; his hard head bumps my shin. "Pretty quiet out there."
"Everyone's worn out. The last mad dash to through the holidays and now they recover."
The smaller ginger cat watches from her perch on top of the dusty cabinet in the corner. He reaches behind another cabinet and pulls out a new device. "Here you go."

"Wow. That's beautiful."
"It's the best made of the quick filters. Should hold up well. If it works at all."
We've been experimenting with other kinds of sand screens. Hardware cloth works well if it's supported well enough that it doesn't tear the little wires out.
"Note how the aluminum ring holds the hot glue, and the hot glue holds the hardware cloth. Spreads the load out so that not just one wire takes it."
"From cubes, to octagons, and now a cylinder."
"Yah. The idea was to make one as effective as the octagon . . ."
"Which I've never yet tried. Larry likes it." We laugh.
"Anyway, as effective as the octagon, but easier to make. In that it was partially successful. It brought its own problems, such as the fact that when you wrap a thick material around a ring, the effective diameter is ring plus the thickness. I had to make a plug to fill the gap. Good enough for a test article."
"Why wouldn't it work?"
"Well, I'm not sure of the solid sides."
"I've noticed that most of the screening takes place through the bottom on these Quick Filters."
"That's why I built this one with just a bottom. I'm also concerned about the double layer of hardware cloth. Will that obstruct the sand too much?"
"I'll find out tomorrow. The tide is high in the morning and I'll be using native sand."
"I hope things work out. And that tonight's wind isn't a harbinger of trouble."
"Thank you. Happy new year!"

I open the door. A blast of cold air drives the grey cat to a more sheltered place. I walk out of the garage with the completed Cercoscreenus, its handle smelling strongly of linseed oil.

Build number: 03M-1 (lifetime start #262); 2 units with earthworks in modified natural beach erosion
Title: "No Resolution"
Date: January 1
Location: Venice Breakwater, south side high tide line
Start: 0730, construction time 8 hours
Unit A: 36 inches tall, 21 inches nominal diameter, immersion screened native sand (Latchform)
Unit B: 42 inches tall, 21 inches nominal diameter, immersion screened native sand (Latchform)
Plan: Unit A on enhanced natural erosion headland. Unit B in erosion gully to west. Borrow pit and spoil used to make smooth ridge connecting them.
Helpers: none
Digital Images: 67, with Canon Powershot G2 (includes L.D. sculpture)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115 and Powershot G2
Video motion: approx 8 minutes, introduction and walkaround, Canon XL1
Video still: none
Video volunteer: Larry Dudock, w/Elura
New Equipment: Cercoscreenus (hardware cloth in plywood ring with plastic cylinder)
Visitors: Jaro, Rich, Lorna, Anna, Rudy, Michael

1. Rough Start

Wind rattles the leaves of the giant bird-of-paradise next door. Cold, from the north, but who can really tell between all these buildings. Stars glitter beyond the whipping fronds.

Holidays bring a special silence. You never know how noisy a freeway is until the morning commute traffic is reduced. In this case the silence also means the wind, wherever it came from, has passed on.

Its signature is written all over the beach. Small dunes ripple the sand and tails of drifted sand reach downwind of everything standing a few inches or more above the surface.

The year's first sunrise puts a gleam on the water and casts long shadows from the palm trees. I drag the trailer across the wind-packed sand to a point above the high tide's reach. It promptly proves me wrong by inundating the whole site. I move back.

Supposedly the tide is high. I choose a spot and start building a base for the planned two-unit multiple; I want to put them very close to each other. The tide, however, has other ideas and I abandon the site.

Casting around, I find on the south side of the storm drain the very high tides have caused the summer's built-up sand to erode into canyons and headlands. These form a natural stage I can't resist, even if it is closer to Larry's building site than I'd prefer. I could wait for the tide to clear the flat but that'll be an hour or more.

So, I'll build up this headland, and put the second sculpture in the canyon next to it on the west. A long line carved in the eastern sculpture and its base should work to connect them, and I can do other design touches. I start the leveling and base-building process but it's hard to make enough room up on that small headland for the Latchform. Eventually I get it to fit and can start filling.

Now the Cercoscreenus, the most advanced coarse screen yet, gets a chance to prove itself. I drop it in and it fits just right. Only a small amount of sand misses the screen as I shovel sand into it. Good. Getting that sand out proves to be much more difficult; after a few tries I understand what's happening. The sand flows when water hits it, filling the bottom of the screen and thereby preventing any flow at all. The water just fills up the screen's cylinder, which means I have to lift not only sand but all that water as I try to wash the sand through. I guess having screen on the sides is much more important than I thought. Back to the drawing board.

I'm about to go get the Quick Filter, brought along for just this reason, when a lifeguard truck beeps its way toward me. The guard waves and yells "Hello, Larry!" I look closely.
"Jaro? Hi!" I haven't seen him in months.
"How are you?"
"Fine. Where have you been working?"
"Everywhere, man. I'm tired. Two weeks ago we had a big rescue here."
"The kid who got washed around to the other side? I heard about that."
"What did you hear?"
"I was talking last week to a guy who said he was there. He was very critical of the lifeguard."
"That was me. I was here by myself, and there were two people to rescue. The girl . . ."
"Hi, Lumpies!"
Oh, hell. With perfect timing the Conversational Tactical Nuke just arrived. "Hi, Larry."
"You were talking about that rescue? I was here."
Yes, I know. What I want is to listen to Jaro but that is now impossible. I was taught that interrupting people is bad manners. Besides, how can you learn anything if you never let anyone else speak? When he interrupts, if the other person doesn't quit talking, Larry just talks louder. It's all I can do to keep from yelling at him to simply shut up and let Jaro tell me his story. It'd be much more interesting, but no chance. In this case it's even worse; because of Jaro's schedule I might not see him for quite some time. There is, however, little choice but to listen and then go back to work as soon as I can after Jaro resumes his patrol.

There's a rhythm to working on the beach that I like. The lack of noise and distraction means I feel more freedom here than most other places, but the mood is seriously disrupted. I like the short conversations I have with the beachgoing regulars, but these are also a magnet to Larry. He wants to get in on the action that I've built over the years, and he has no respect for how these relationships have come about. Quiet, and time, and flow. Every time we've been out here at the same time this has happened with someone. It's a problem, and I have no idea how to solve it. I dislike confrontation even more than I dislike interruption. The only solution here is to pound the sand. Hard.

Someone forgot to tell the ocean that the tide should be going down. Repeatedly the building site gets hit, and every hit changes the contour of the sand; eventually I have to shore up the base of the first pile. I try a couple more experiments with the Cercoscreenus but it works no better. Water must be able to come and go freely.

"How's the Cercoscreenus?"
"Not very good, Larry. Needs more work. Holes in the side . . ."
"Covered with screen?"
Yes, if you'd let me explain, but that's a futile hope. He walks off and I resume working. One layer goes in unscreened because I forget to put the screen in there.
"I won't be needing the Octascreen for a time. Do you want to use it?"
"I should at least give it a try to find out how it works."
"You mean you've never used it?"
"How could I? You've always had it." This is the first time I've even seen it since the day I finished making it. I loaned it to him because I was going out of town for the weekend and would be unable to test it myself. It turns out to be a good tool, screening the sand quickly and easily, and that tall handle, which I thought might be clumsy, helps because I can grab the vertical extensions. Maybe this design needs to be reconsidered, but that brings up the usual problem of how to attach the screen to the frame. This is the problem I solved with the Cercoscreenus. Sort of like picking up eggs: try to get one more and two or three others fall out.

I fill the form until there's no longer enough water inside to screen sand. That's tall enough.

Reluctantly the tide has finally pulled back and I can build the second piece down in the hollow west of the first one. I want this piece to spring upward out of a long curve so it will need to be as tall as can be made with the form. Shortly after I start this one, Larry comes back to reclaim the Octascreen, so I use the original Quick Filter, with an occasional try of the Cercoscreenus, which never works any better. Near the top it shows an additional problem in that big flat-faced ring, which splashes water all over the place. Maybe this piece just belongs in the Museum of Failed Sand Sculpture Tools. It won't be the last.

The Quick Filter lives up to its name and I soon have the second pile made. Finally I can get to what I came here for.

2. Ideas: Too Many, Not Enough, No Agreement

Starting Unit A is easy: just start slicing away with the Sand Knife. The sand feels soft, consistently so. I've noticed this in other coarse-sand piles and I wonder why sometimes they pack well while other times they're soft. I used the same technique for all of them. Maybe I forgot something. Too many distractions, too much internal upset.

Unit A leans west, toward the other block of sand. On the western side I carve a big concave and then mirror that on the east side of Unit B after unwrapping it so as to carve both units together. B is noticeably harder to carve. I had better leverage on the tamper for this pile, with better footing closer to the form, so maybe that made the difference. I return to A and start working on its overall shape.

The concave becomes more hollow, and the top gets cut away from a piece that projects. Looks OK. Along its edge I drill some holes and then shape them to the surface with long grooves down and around the soft sand. Inside the concave I carve a serpentine ridge back and forth around the holes. This is more dramatic than beautiful.

"Swimmers, get ready!"
I amble over to where Larry is working. "Here they go. The Penguins, another annual tradition.
"Go!"
The swimmers start by running. The day is sunny with only a slight breeze, but the water is cold and as soon as the people hit the water their progress is much slower. Many shrieks accompany their impact against waves. One overachiever is way out in front, but I don't think it's a race. They just go fast so as to get it over with.

When you don't know what to do, temporize. The root of that word is in short supply at this time of year, however.
"How long has this taken you?"
"I started at about 7:30."
"Wow. Do you eat lunch?"
He looks like a gym-type person. "No. At this time of year the best I can get is a Zone bar while I'm spraying the sculpture. In the summer things are different." Right now I'm just trying to figure out what to do in the four hours remaining.

Unit B shares some of its outer design with Unit A. I want the details to be different. so I cut it to a tapering top. A look from afar shows me that I cut too much; the sides are too straight. Inelegant, and it leaves little room for the inner sculpture. That plan is completely voided when I punch through the membrane between the legs.
"I thought it was thicker than that, Rich."
"Now you have a place for a big hole!"
That's Rich. Always looking at the bright side. And this definitely brightens things up, this big hole. There's room at the side for some detail and a small hole near the top. Then I drill through near the bottom and gather some light in that way.
"You're nearly finished."
"I hope not. There's some detail to carve, and both of these need some help."
"Yes. This one looks like something from a few years ago."
Yah. Try about 1984. "Well, if you can't make it different, make it better."

3. Final Assembly

"I feel like just demolishing Unit B and starting over. There isn't time."
Instead, I'll just have to try harder. Don't quit. It's still a sculpture, although it has some of its own ways now instead of being just a cylinder. Work with what's there. How can it be made better?

Well, start with this north side slab. Currently it's solid, and it was planned to stay that way. But how about working a hole in here that fits with the internal ribs? I carefully cut a hole though and then shape it to the rest of the piece, inside and out, and the result is good. Then I give more definition to some other internal ribs, bringing them down and smoothing their curves so as to look intended.

"I wonder if I could get away with that."
"I'll shoot another round."
"Wow, Rich, the way you're shooting you'd think bits were free."
"You'd better buy a new card; there are only 70 left on this one."
I cut a narrow slot with the Steel Pinky, down and over to the lowest space. Then I cut one on the other side of the descending internal rib, shaping this one to fit its space. It's amazing what details will do for a sculpture, details that catch light in unexpected ways.

On the south I cut through the arch's slab wall to make another narrow crescent light-catcher, then shape the sand up and around. Now, you might want to stay your hand and think about where to go from here. Yes, details help but remember your problem with overdoing things. The simple bottom is a nice balance to the more complex top.

"I think that's about it, Rich."
"So soon? And no more holes?"
"That reminds me. I need to look over here at Unit A."
It does need a hole, but where? Here, and the top will fall off. How about here? I could tunnel up and into that pocket on the west side. The Steel Finger makes this fairly easy and brings daylight to the shadowed side of the sculpture. I shape the hole and then it's time for clean-up.

There is only time for smoothing out the roughest places because I still have to work on the base. I reshape various things and refine their edges. I like parts that look decisive: go that way, instead of wandering to an uncertain end. Things should look as if they belong.

That goes for the base, also. It has the job of tying the sculptures together. Somewhere along the line the original vision got lost and that continuous line from one sculpture to the other seems unachievable. Or undesirable. My mind has become very fuzzy. I settle for smoothing the surface and cleaning up edges.

"Now I know what it is! Two guys in a rowboat!"
"All right, Rich. I get the hint." I knock the bow off the boat and bring the base out some more, then feather it into the beach. More reshaping at least gets it presentable.

New Year Day sculptures should be spectacular. They should make a statement that will get the year off to a strong start. This one limps but I can't figure out what's wrong with it.

"It's a good piece," Rich says. "A good start for the year."
I wish I could agree with him, but the source of my dissatisfaction is still a mystery.

From some angles it is good. I finish cleaning out the borrow pit and smoothing the sides so the sokkel will show separate from the beach. It's actually more of an extension, and doesn't make much of a statement. Just sort of holds the sculptures up, but provides nothing else. Yah, support is important, but how about beauty? But the fire has gone out, and there's not much fire left in the sky either.

"Four o'clock," Rich says.
I sign the sculpture. It'll have to do.
"Wash your hands and I'll give you your camera."
"Thanks, Rich. First I'm going to have some more of Anna's blistered peanuts."

4. Small Party

We've not seen much of Lorna. She was hungry when she got here and spent most of the afternoon catching up with her calorie deficit. Anna has been playing her flute. This sounds good against the ambient ocean. I was hoping the other flute player I met a few months ago would show up for a duet. Instead we get a solo, and various munchies. This is good because I've not eaten enough myself. Too busy.

I walk around and try to get some good pictures. It's a good thing the camera is automatic. Then I remember the video camera, so I do a walkaround with that.

With the work finished I get a chance to just stand there. I look at the sculpture and it still doesn't work. Ah, well, the day has been beautiful and the light right now is glorious. Long shadows flee from strollers. Surfers work their small waves. Crowds come and go; I thought they'd all be watching the football game.

"Hi, Larry!"
"Michael! I was hoping you'd come, but forgot to send you a message."
"I figured you'd be here. I ran past on the way south and figured I'd stop on the way back."
I didn't even see him. Not surprising. "How are things at Crossroads?"
"They're fine."
"I keep telling my friend George that he should apply there. He's so frustrated with the public schools that he just can't stand it. Goes on vacation for two months just so he can recover."
"Well, he wouldn't be so well paid, and he'd lose some benefits working in a private school."
"At least he'd be able to teach. As he describes his work, it sounds more like baby sitting. Crossroads teaches kids to think."
"Yes. I just sort of put the materials there and let them go. Try to manage the confusion. I'll have to talk to the art department manager to see if we can get you to come back."
"I'd like that. It's an interesting place to work. We could set up a sand box in the courtyard!"
He laughs. "Well, if it would work anywhere, it would work at Crossroads. A sandbox. Well, I'd better keep running before I get too cold. It was nice to see you."
"I'm glad you stopped." He runs away north, his shadow keeping pace on the orange-gold sand.

I bumble around, putting equipment away. Lorna is working on smoothing out a place where someone stepped on the border of the sculpture. I look up from her and see that the top of Unit A has fallen off, at about the same time that others notice.
"What happened?"
"The vandals have been here."
"Did anyone see it?"
"No."
"I think it just fell off. Look at that crack. Coarse sand, not that well packed, and that south knob was heavy."
"It lasted long enough. We got photos and video."
"May I work on the stump?"
"Sure, Lorna, go ahead." To the others I say "Lorna reworked the ruins of another New Year sculpture, turned it into something worth looking at. It's even on my Web site. Looks like she's admonishing a seal."
She carefully rubs the sand smooth, and then goes for the brushes. Her touch is delicate, kindly.
"We should make her a pile of her own some day."

The sunlight fades as we stand. Shadows merge into the one large one cast by the rotating Earth. Clouds low in the west catch direct light and turn into sheets of copper and gold. Larry swings by.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I'm not . . ."
"You mean you don't like it?"
"Not really. It just doesn't fit, and the base doesn't add anything."
He walks off to get his last photos, with the camera on a tripod.

Now that it's dark enough I get out the small flashing LEDs and put one on each earlobe. This causes an instant crowd. Fortunately I brought more and soon have sold most of them, for about what I paid for them. One boy puts it on his lower lip and is delighted.

Anna has put her flute away. I think it's time to put myself away.
"Is anyone interested in dinner?"
"No thanks," I say. "I just want to go home. Seriously thrashed."
I finish loading, make a last tool check, and then we push and pull the trailer away.

Feeling very disappointed, I ride away north. Various feelings run in conflict and I'm caught in the welter, too tired to sort them out. Well, the feeling is honest for what it is, but it may not reflect reality; many things affect emotions and truth is way down the list. Wait for the pictures.

5. Analysis: Forced Union

The memories look better by the light of the year's second day, but it's still a disappointing sculpture. Why? I run through other memories. Finally, as I push my flat-tired bike home from Trader Joe's, I realize what part of the problem is.

The multi-part sculpture originated as a plot-filling device, then developed as a way to deal with coarse sand. If you can't do one complex sculpture with good sand, do two or three simple ones with bad sand. Now those simple sculptures have developed into complex sculptures because the sand can be better packed with the Quick Filter and thus carved into more intricate shapes.

So, here I've done two sculptures that a few years ago would have individually taken all day. Eight hours of work. One sculpture or two? Two simple ones, plus a unifying sokkel, can be done by one man in one day. Two complex sculptures plus sokkel is a whole different task, especially if the work is to be unified; something has to give. Spread the task out over a few days and it might work, but trying to get it all in one day is probably unreasonable. I ended up with sculptures that would have been good by 1997 standards, and a base that didn't do much for either one.

Besides all of that, the sculptures compete with each other. The day has had more than its share of conflicts and these two sculptures add to it, glaring at each other along a sokkel that just isn't big enough for the two of them. They're ignoring each other, trying to part, but held together against their wills by that lame base that gives no options.

Simple sculptures need each other in order to form an interesting whole. These two don't need anyone, and the sokkel doesn't do anything to bring peace to the composition. I never expected this kind of result, but maybe I should have. My tendency has always been to pack as much carving into one day as possible. Restraint? What's that?

Frustrated? Of course. It's not a multiple, it's not a single, it's some strange hybrid that lost its vigor. In all the confusion of the day I really lost my way and ended up with a sculpture that split the middle of several ideas without serving any of them very well.

Focus. That was the day's major lack. There never was one image of this sculpture in my mind. It grew from a confusion of ideas and half-ideas, and I failed to choose one and stick with it.

Fortunately, Day One isn't a harbinger. Some of the sculptures have fallen over, some have been spectacular. The important thing is to keep working, enjoying the day. The truth is that both of these sculptures are better than anything from 1997; they have better details and more interesting design. They show more intent. That they don't work as a multiple is more a sign of the difficulty of making successful multiple sculptures than of lousy sculpting. The task is much more difficult than I thought, and it isn't getting any easier. Oh, my.

======

Stars can't compete with the portable lights set up around the stage, where a band is playing their own mix of Celtic and African music. Interesting. I stop to listen for a few minutes, and then continue on to the shop. People walk around, relaxed. The holidays are over. Everyone looks glad.

"Come on in back!"
"All right." I walk, carefully because now two cats are competing for my legs, walking that complex figure-8 dance that only they do so gracefully.

In the workshop, he's fully engaged. One arm holds a piece of wood, while the other hand holds a drill. Another piece of wood is held between his legs, and he's leaning against it with his upper body.
"I had no idea tool-making was so physical."
"All I'd have to do is take a few seconds to find a clamp but, you know."
"You mean, like this one?" I hold up a small C-clamp.
"Yes. Can you put that on, right about there?" He points to a spot with his tongue.
"OK. Here?"
"Yes. That's it. Cinch it down. Good! That's it. Now, what do you have?"

I pick up the Cercoscreenus from where I'd set it on the floor, and carefully place it right in the middle of his workbench.
"It's really quite a lovely item, you know."
"Yes?"
"Cunningly made so that it will last for years."
"I know."
"It's even attractive, in an engineered way that's hard to describe. It looks like what it is, no more and no less. Engineering honesty with no excess frippery."
"I've always thought that good design should speak for itself, and it should show. Why cover it up with decoration?"
"And that handle. A nice touch. Easy to grip, warm." I look straight at him.
"Yes? Well, we both know how much I like cherry wood."
"Stainless bolts, aluminum, plastic, every part chosen with great care for its specific part in the purpose."
"Experience is a hard teacher, but fair."
"The construction shows care in the details, and the result of much thought about what's needed. Any project is a proposed solution to a set of problems, and this item's design and construction show the result of much thought. The fit is good. Things look as if they belong."
"Yah, I sweated over this one. I know how you like to use tools that look as if they were made by someone who knows what they're doing, in addition to working well."
"It shows. You have every right to be proud."
"Well, I am, but something tells me there's a small problem, or you wouldn't be going through this long wind-up. I'm waiting for the delivery."
"Yah. There is a small problem. One that I've noticed before. You know how sometimes you get lucky on your first attempt at something and it works?"
"Oh, yes. Regularly."
"Well, first we had the Quick Filter. Ugly, crude, but it worked and caused a revolution."
"You need to bring that thing back in here so I can re-screen it."
"Yah. It is beginning to show signs of wear. But don't distract me. After that we got the Octascreen, which I finally got a chance to use. Now, that was a genuine improvement over the Quick filter: better at catching the shovelled sand, easier to hold on to."
"Oh, please don't ask me to make another one of those. Yeow, what a hassle."
"Well, that's why we have the Cercoscreenus. Simpler to build, stronger, prettier, less harmful to one's appendages if they make close contact. It was supposed to incorporate all we've learned and add to that."
"'Supposed to?'"
"Yes. That one small problem with it? It doesn't work! You know what you get when you shovel 15 pounds of sand into Cercoscreenus and then pour on five gallons of water?"
"Ummm. . . 15 pounds of filtered sand?"
"You wish. I wish. No, you get a 50-pound anchor! Guess what?"
"The screen's sides are as important as its bottom."
"That's it. We were talking about this and thought the large size of this screen would take care of that, right? Wrong. The sand spreads out and seals the bottom. There's nowhere for the water to go! I have to pick the whole thing up. Try that 120 times. Even a gym couldn't get away with making its patrons go through that! I went back to using the good old Quick Filter."
"Oh, my." He picks up the Cercoscreenus and looks at it. "Is there anything good about it?"
"Yes. Size and shape are great, keeping the sand where it should be. It is sturdy, and the handle is a delight. The sides flex while I'm moving it around but it's not a problem. The ring, however, is a problem because it splashes a lot of water out when the form is nearly full. The pipe-frame screens don't do that so badly."
"Well, rats. Back to the drawing board. It is pretty, though, isn't it?"

======

A few days later Larry is in my garage, making the blade for his Steel Finger. I started him with this one because it's the easiest to make, calling for only two bends.

George comes by in the afternoon.
"Do you want to go to Joe's? I'm hungry!"
"Sure." Larry seems to have things under control as we walk past the garage. "Just put things back and lock up if you leave before we get back, please."
"OK."
We walk toward the beach under a warm afternoon sun. Main Street is crowded, but Joe's is between rushes. George writes cards as I look over the newspaper. He wants me to summarize an article about a woman who makes money through teaching people dodgy methods for getting around the income tax. Now she's in jail.

"Shall we walk to the beach?"
"Yes."
Lots of other people had the same idea, and many of them have been digging. The place, under a sun glaring from high clouds and low water, looks like giant gophers have been everywhere.

"Which way?"
"North."
"North? But that will take longer."
I look at George. "How can that be?"
"You're right. My logic circuits aren't working today."

At low tide there's always water seeping out of the sand but today there's more than usual. Sand underfoot moves around in an odd way and I dig to find out what's down there. Gravel, in a layer several inches thick.
"That must be why there's so much water. It acts like an aquifer." The water flows along the steeper part of the beach, making braided erosion channels that are beautiful both to see and to watch change, until it hits the flatter area where it spreads out into a smooth sheet that reflects the golden western sky. We walk along as the sun goes over the horizon.

The clouds change from gold to orange to old flame red.
"I'd better get back and find out how Larry's doing."
We turn around and amble back, reluctant to leave until the last bit of red has drained away. Children are equally reluctant to leave their play on the glowing sand and their parents have to call repeatedly.

Larry must have finished his project. The garage is locked, everything put away. George and I go into my apartment.
"First priority: John McPhee. Second priority: Zone bar. Third: framboise."
"No, first priority is to get rid of these shoes."
"I told you my logic was off."
"No problem. Just that your priority isn't mine." Shoes off, I go and get the books. "Which ones did you want?"
"All of them. That's why my middle name is 'Moore.' Actually, I don't need this one because I just finished reading it."
"OK. Let me put my name in them."
"You mean you want them back?"

"Here's your Zone bar." They're a reasonably good simulation of food. Then I go back to the kitchen and get the raspberry beer.
"Here you go." It's is a lovely red color.
"Wow! This is good."
"I told you so."
"I never tried it because I don't like sweet beer."
"Neither do I."
He has a very appreciative look on his face. It is good stuff.

"I've been thinking about what you said about the multiple sculptures, and I think you're right. Only a couple of them have worked."
"How many have you done?"
"13, recently. Only about two of them worked."
"The first one, at that contest. That's my favorite. Beginner's luck. There's some sort of connection, the way the lines flow from the low sculpture to the other."
"I'll have to look at that again, to see if I can see it the way you do. All I really know is that the whole concept is much more complex than I at first thought. Seems like every one since then has been worse."
"I liked the one you did, remembering Bob Jeffords. The two-part one."
"Yah. That was nice; I was able to model the whole thing in my mind. Haven't been able to do that with others."
"I think that's important. Make a plan beforehand."
"You may be right, although I don't much care for the thought. Modelling multiples in my mind is difficult. I can do it for singles, and they've benefited from that. Singles can also benefit from some design accidents, but that tends not to work with multiples. Too much going on, I guess. Too many ways for it not to work."

It has been a short trip to failure. At the outset it seemed like just another interesting design variation. Wrong-O, Buzzard-Breath! The multiple is a different kind of sculpture, and needs a different way of working. I feel as if I started to pet a kitten but it turned into multiple wildcats and threw me out on my ear. I'm sitting on the ground, bruised, bleeding from a few scratches, with much more respect for the subject.

"I'd better get on home."
"Your bus leaves in a few minutes."
"Bus? What bus?"
"You brought my car back. You don't think I'm going to let it leave again, do you?"
"I have the key."
"Well, there is that. Drive carefully."
"Good night."

"All right, you guys. Velvet your paws. Stand down. I may be dense but I think I've finally gotten it."
The wildcats all sit down and start to lick their paws. They smile, anticipating.

Written January 2
Edited and amended January 5

January 10: 03F-1

2005-06-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

For the next piece I went back to the single. I can do one good sculpture in a day, or two or more mediocre ones. I still was experimenting with the base landscaping that I'd learned from the multiple.

There's a report for this sculpture following the images.

Defense! Defense!

"Well, I guess we showed him who's boss."
"You know, you really stink at times."
"What? Just because I keep this guy from getting cocky you think I'm overbearing?"
"Yes. Do you pay any attention to what he's doing?"
"Yah. He goes out there. Teases the tide, calculates it to an inch, and gets away with it. Then he does things to sand that no one else can do. What's that, if not arrogance?"
"How about the fact that sometimes they do fall over? And what about the people who respect his work and enjoy seeing it? He's rather undemanding about this, you know. I've heard him say 'It is, after all, just sand.' Doesn't he have some grounds for pride?"
"Pride? Arrogance."
"No, pride. There's a difference. Quit looking at the surface. Go deeper. Do what he does: try harder."

We last left our hero standing on the beach, staring at those design wildcats that had just thrashed him soundly. What seemed simple had shed that seeming. Where to now?

Who knows where ideas come from? The multiple sculpture idea came in, seemed like a god one, and the first few were pretty good. Then things went awry; the harder I tried the worse the sculptures got.

I certainly don't know. Seems like I know less now than I did in August. I'm tired of wrestling. Tuck that tail, lick the wounds, do what you need but go to the beach and make a sculpture. You're only a quitter if you quit.

Build number: 03F-1 (lifetime start #263) filtered native sand, on elongated sloping riser base and borrow pit
Title: none
Date: January 10 (Friday)
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0800; construction time approx 8 hours
Height: 3.5 feet (Latchform); riser height about 10 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 67 images, Canon Powershot G2 (includes those shot by Rich)
Photo 35mm: approx 15 exposures on Fuji Acros 100 (EI80) w/LX and 28-135 zoom
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Construction and complete, Rich w/Canon Z115 and my G2
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none (second test for Cercoscreenus)

1. Disappointment

First I had to reassemble the Cercoscreenus, this year's prizewinner for Most Disappointing Tool. I had in mind another test. If it won't work when I shovel sand into it while it's in the form, maybe it will work if i fill it outside the form and dip it. It being about 0640 I try to keep the Toolworks noise to a minimum. The man with the two little dogs came by and noted that the SMPD officer was looking for me. I told him I was innocent.

Usually when the tidal extremes are low the sand is good. Low turbulence lets the fine sand settle. This assumes it's not turbulent, but there are other ways to generate fast water. Surf, for instance. It booms against the rocks, digs up the beach and throws the sand around. It delights the surfers and I watch one ride a wave until it expires at the beach, slipping down the face and then cutting sharply back up. Beautiful. What's good for him ruins my chances; there is no good sand anywhere.

Well, when the beach hands you lemonade, add sugar. I site the sculpture where the sand is least bad and go to work. A single sculpture. One only. Keep it simple. Maybe I'll shed less blood that way when the design tigers visit.

2. Surprises

The first few loads go through the Quick Filter, already accorded "Old Reliable" status. As I use it I watch how the screen, sand and water interact. Yah, I just missed it. There's a lot of action through the sides. This is what I get for solving a problem so thoroughly that it requires no more thought, until a new solution based on that experience fails miserably.

Then it's time for the Cercoscreenus' second coming. I load some sand into it, pick the awkwardly big thing up and lower it into the water. The sand does come out but it's more of a struggle than with its supposedly primitive predecessor. Tamping reveals another unanticipated result in that the sand feels very soft until I've hammered it more than usual. The same happens for two more test loads. Point proven. Forget it.

Some quick thinking produces a new theory: turbulence. This is a bad thing on the beach but seems to be a good thing in the form. It seems to help the sand settle so that it doesn't need so much tamping. Corners produce turbulence as the screen is rotated. The Cercoscreenus has another flaw. Add them up and the load is fatal. Put the thing in the Museum of Failed Sand Sculpture Tools and go on. Corners are helpful.

Well, I have another set of corners, wrapped in fine screen. The original box filter is here because I thought I might find good sand; I've never used it with the coarser high-tide sand because I thought it would just plug up. Well, having been proven wrong about several other items, I might as well test this thought. I load it up and plop it in. Well, look at that. Not really any more effort than with fine sand,. and the finer screen catches those annoying strands of sea grass. I fill the form with fine-screened sand, finishing it off with the Quick Filter because it's better in shallow water. It'll be interesting to find out how all of this affected the packing.

3. Design and Consequences

No matter how well packed, it's still coarse sand and engineering conservatism is a good idea. Maybe I should send this to Dennis Prager, who is a fan of conservatives. No, instead, I'll just taper the column. And how about making the top completely open? A dome puts sideward load on its supports, which is how Unit C of 02M-12 failed.

So, it needs a big opening to get the sand out from the top. Digging down is for ditch diggers who have the equipment. I shape the east side to a moderate overhang and then tunnel inward using a combination of Bigger Loop and Steel Finger. The latter tool was originally designed for this kind of work but was made so badly that it didn't work. The blade was too flexible and couldn't take the stress of digging into packed sand. A rebuilding gave it the needed rigidity but increased its weight to the point where it still didn't work. I rebuilt it again last year with a much better handle and more intelligently designed support so that now it comes close to that original concept. It's still too weak at the tip for hard digging but as long as I take small bites it will hold up, and its effectiveness in this kind of digging makes it irresistible. I used to use the Loop Tool for this task but it's not so good at reaching upward into small spaces.

"Hi, Larry."
"Hi, Bj. It's nice to see you here."
"I walk every day. Today I decided to walk on the beach."
She walks with pride and interest, erect, looking forward. "I'm glad you'll be going to the Directors' Guild presentation tomorrow."
"Thank you for the invitation. I wouldn't miss it. One thing Bob and I were starting to talk about was movies and I wanted to learn more about how they're made, how good ones get made."
"I'll talk to Ken and see if he can answer some of your questions."

There's no doubt about it. Movies are fascinating. The occasional one is purely magic, transporting me to some other world.

"Bob was interested in quality. I was wondering how he managed that in an industry that just seems to want easy money."
"There are good movies out now. 'Chicago' is good. 'Gangs of New York' is hard to watch, but the performances are excellent. It's a true story about the immigrant gangs. Irish, trying to make a place for themselves among the other gangs."
Ah, I wish I could have expressed myself more coherently. Brain suddenly called upon to converse while still thinking about the sculpture I split the exit and end up in the weeds wondering why I sound like such an idiot.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Larry."
"Bye." She walks away south, following the wet line of the slowly retreating tide.

I return to the central task: removing the heart of a block of sand. Once I break through to the top the rest is fairly simple excavation. I leave a curving floor about a third of the way down the pile; this will serve to tie the walls to each other.

On the north I start the series of narrow openings bounded by thin sections of sand that are the basis for this sculpture. One space leads to the next, all the way to the bottom, and I tie them across with subtle lines and surface cuts.

Farther around on the west the spaces become bigger. I dig out under the curved surface and then go sideways.

It's a good pile. Consistent, except for one layer near the top that is harder than the rest. I wonder what's different about that. Is that where I made thinner additions? The sand even holds sharp edges if I don't bang into them with a tool. Oh, the wonders of technology.

Simplicity. One pile, one sculpture, one man. The planet turns, shadows change. There's time to think, to look, to watch the surfers and their moving art played out on the even more beautiful energetic water. Time for craftsmanship, time for expression. The experience of the multiple leads to appreciation of the single.

After considering the south aspect I make some shaped cuts, remembering to leave some sand at the top as counterpoise to the overhang. That pretty well settles the outward design but there's internal work to do.

"Hi, Rich. You're in luck. I have cookies and blister peanuts!"
"Great. I have little cookies."
"That must mean you want only small holes."
"As long as they're not circular."

"Your Prime Directive is still working."
"How's that?"
"Nothing in the sculpture I recognize. Wait a minute! There's a 6 right here!"
"Oh, rats, you're right. Well it's too late to change it." Although I try later on and manage to reduce the resemblance somewhat.
"And there's a K over here. K-6? Must be a really, really tall mountain."
"Or a puppy?" Rich has quite an imagination. "Actually, the Prime Directive is to make each sculpture better than the last."
"I know that. But you should never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

Not far offshore a pelican dives in, hopeful of fish. Surfers are more successful, still getting those long graceful rides. The day has continued cool with a slow shifty breeze under varied overcast. Rain was predicted but never showed for all the cloud cover; it's unlikely we'll get any sunset light so I don't consider that in the sculpture's carving.

"One more hole. I have an entry. Where will it come out?" Painfully I crawl around the sculpture. I wish someone could take my back apart and rebuild it as they have my bicycle. "Here we go. Perfect."
"Yah. It's low, but centered."
"Right. As long as I don't make it too big." Shape counts for more than size, and I tunnel through halfway from each side and meet with a small error that becomes part of the design. The Steel Finger is finally doing what it was originally designed for as I learn how to use it.

4. Accuracy of Vision

"Well, that's about it for design."
"You're finished early. It's only a little after two."
"I have lots of clean-up to do. And base work after that. Probably be finished by 3:00."

No matter how carefully the carving is done the sculpture still needs detail work. With a multiple this is nearly impossible. Now I have lots of time to consider each detail and change things in minor ways to make the parts flow and balance.

A detail doesn't work. I want to bring an internal edge back to the outside but it just doesn't look right. Looking at it again I get another idea. Curve it downward to match the step on the other side of the space. Ah, yes, that's it. The gift of time and simplicity.

Further refinement helps the interior, which no one will see unless they're tall. I shape the edges of spaces to go along with the outside, and then brush away the loose sand. Tiger stripes come out of the strongly colored sand.

Craftsmanship. Make it right. Make it look intended. Don't quit until it looks the way you want it to, but quit before you do too much. It's an interesting balance, especially in a pile made of sand I wouldn't have thought capable of any of this.

5. Basic Considerations

Space links the sculpture with its environment. Placement within that space is part of the design. Given the decision to make something rather than nothing, the maker might as well do as splashy a job as possible. Don't just put the sculpture on the sand. Make it dominate the space.

Here there are no distractions. One sculpture. Part of the beach, but a special part. Lift it. Build a soft boundary to the sacred space of creation. This is something special.

The problem is fatigue. By the time I've spent nearly eight hours making the sculpture itself there isn't much left over for base design. I shape the tall base to a sloping headland but the flat area around the sculpture is ugly. I go back and rework parts of this to make it slope more smoothly and this helps. A dramatic cut also helps. Shape it. Make it more than just a mound to raise the sculpture. Design it.

6. Imaging Imagination

"Clean off your hands and I'll give you your camera back."
"OK. Let me have some peanuts first. The peanuts, by the way, were a good idea. Thank you, Anna. If I'd remembered the Zone bars I'd have been quite well fed, but cookies will just have to stand in for them."
By this time I've dried my hands and picked up the camera.

I start with the black-and-white film. Lighting is perfect for this, sunlight attenuated by high clouds and low vapor. Sculptor's Palsy makes me wish for a faster lens; the zoom is versatile but at F/4 I'm unable to get the fast shutter speed I prefer.

A man walks around with something in his hand.
"Is that a camera, Rich?"
"I guess so."
Finally I have to ask the man himself.
"It's for Email. Quick and easy, but it only holds 20 shots."
"Then you copy to the computer?"
"Yes."
"Where did you get it?"
"Big Lots. $25."
"Amazing. There's one of those stores nearby. I'll have to take a look." And I did, the next day. You get only 352X288 pixels. Not enough, even at only $25.

I shoot around with my own digital. Sculptor's Palsy isn't so much of a problem with this lightweight camera.

"Well, that's it. It's getting cold out here."
"Yah. I'm thinking of taking off in a little bit."
"So am I. Looks like we're not going to get any sunset light to hang around for."

I pack up and we haul the loads to my bike, where I reunite everything on the trailer. The Cercoscreenus goes on top.
"Say good-bye to the Cercoscreenus, Rich. It'll be retired."
"OK May its replacement do better."
"Good night. Thanks for your help."
"You're welcome. Fare you well."

I pull out. Tired. The trip is slow. Low puffs of cloud blow slowly overhead through the grey light.

We were wrong about the sunset. Later on I look out the window and see gentle orange light on those low clouds. Well, I should have stayed, but there are limits.

*****

"Well, put it on the shelf."
"Here? Next to this flat screen?"
"That'll do."
I reach up and put the Cercoscreenus on the top shelf. Sand drops off of it and the cats bumping my legs run for shelter, from which they give me betrayed looks.

There are other dusty tools up here. A set of ceramic fingertips. A wooden frame holding fiberglass window screen. A few other blades and scrapers of plastic. Their story is told by the dust. Designed, made, tested and failed.

"It didn't even work when I loaded it outside of the form and then dipped it in. Interesting. Turns out corners might be important because they get the water moving, and that moving water seems to help settle the sand."
"So we add that failure to the flat bottom, wide ring and lack of side screen. Yah, the shelf is where it belongs. Not worth rebuilding, but worth remembering. We stand there as the cats come out. Failure and memory equal learning.

*****

"Well, I believe he got you. Dirty tricks and all."
"Oh, now you're trying to blame me for the surf?"
"No, but you certainly were enjoying the look on his face as he searched for sand. I could see it. 'Serves him right,' you thought."
"Oh, go away."
"OK, Mr. Lemon Salesman. You going to take away the sugar next time? Quit reading about those Greek gods. Their time is done. Try becoming helpful."
"Will you settle for neutral?"
"That's a start. I wonder what he'll do next."

Wildcat faces fade into the overcast. One looks pleased. The other looks challenged. The story clearly isn't over yet.

Written 2003 January 11, 12

February 8: 03F-2

2005-06-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

This sculpture followed a number of free-piled experiments, none of which was photographed. For details, read the report that follows the image assembly.

Scattered

Santa Ana winds have magical powers. They converted a sculpture into a laundry and grocery utility day. By the time I had the work done the winds had abated and showed signs of coming onshore. Too late to start the planned major sculpture but there are alternatives. Stiff from two days' intensive practice on my new Rolls Rolls skateboard, I head out again.

Skateboarding is best done light. No tools, no pocket hamper, just house key hanging from my collar I roll to the beach. What's the tide doing? I don't remember, but there's good sand and my choice of carving tools. The desired tight multiple turns into a free-piled single when the tide and surf gang up on me. Then the single turns into loose sand as waves hit its base and the tower languidly slides into the borrow pit. Well, maybe that's it. I start building another but this one's life is even shorter. If I go any higher the sand is bad. Program ends. I pick up the board and head home.

Sunday I plan better. Leave early while the tide is falling. Carving tools are as plentiful as time and the sculpture is yesterday's desired multiple. It doesn't come together until I carve the earthworks around the base. Mussel shells are good carving tools but they don't have much reach, so getting into the sculpture is frustrating, but the ensemble looks good. I leave, thinking about how to make a good multiple. This is the first one whose base is better than the sculptures.

A few days later I try it again. George is off running, leaving me near sunset at the end of Ocean Park. Usually there's decent sand here but tonight the stuff is the worst I've ever essayed to sculpt with. I'm here, I don't feel like going anywhere, I have tools with me. Why not try it? Surprisingly, it works. Microsculpture is sturdier than long unsupported sections, and the little openings light up nicely in the day's last light. This sculpture gets several nice comments from sunset watchers.

Still, there's nothing like fine sand. So, the next day I skate to the Breakwater and build a big free-pile single on an L-shaped plan. The idea is to make two panes of small braided openings but mussel shells just won't permit this. The sand pile is too strong; I should have put the Steel Pinky in my pocket.

Free-pile is just that: free. Free of the cylindric beginning, free to shape the base. Also free from that wonderful smoothness of filtered sand, and I can only filter into a form. Trade-offs.

03P-1 January 25 (first unit of planned multiple, until tide wash-out. No tools.)
03P-2 January 25 (built slightly higher than ruins of first. No tools.)
03M-2, LS264 January 26 (concept from previous day's sculptures. No tools.)
03M-3, LS265 January 31 (entirely experimental, sunset, bad sand. Some tools.)
03P-3 February 1 (big, fine sand at Breakwater. No tools.)

The weekend approaches. Sculpture? Something else? I wanted to go to Oxnard to visit Jason, who used to work in the Control Center. My neighbor smacked up my car, driving when he should have taken a taxi, and the motorcycle's battery is flatter than a Domino's pizza. Maybe I should buy a battery charger. Maybe I should buy a new car. Maybe I should get the bike overhauled. Too much. Let's do a sculpture.

Build number: 03F-2 (lifetime start #266) filtered low-tide sand, on large domed base merged with borrow pit
Title: "Lonely?"
Date: February 8
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0715; construction time approx 8.5 hours
Height: 3.5 feet (Latchform); riser height about 9 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 32 images, Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Construction and complete, Larry D w/Jazz
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none

1. Do What You Know When You Know It

The battery charger is hooked up, but the battery shows very little enthusiasm for accepting the gift of new electrons. Well, even I have a hard time accepting things some days. Give it time. Put the charger under the bike and pull the trailer out to see if everything is there. Tomorrow morning will be too early to be banging around out here. I organize the load and back the trailer into the garage.

Inside I gather lunch materials, make sure the camera is charged (what a concept: no film, but a flat battery leaves you photographless) and make sure basic support items are in the pack. Ready.

Shortly after dawn I'm rolling. News on the charging front is good: I started the motorcycle with its own battery. Reluctant, yes, and grudging, but it started. Good. Now I can get it to a shop for long-deferred maintenance; if this is going to be my sole vehicle for a time, it needs to work.

2. The Stage Changes

A few weeks ago the isthmus was broad enough for over 100 people to meet beside a sprawling multiple sand sculpture. Now I could toss a shell from water on the north side to water on the south and half of that crowd would have gotten wet feet. The storm drain is exposed all the way back to its bend and has captured water on the north side. With good sand available a few hundred feet away and only one cloud far off to the southwest conditions for sculpture are just about perfect.

I start building on the south side cusp, digging a curving borrow pit and building broad base. The plan is to have its eastern slope meet the borrow pit's edge, as if the base and sculpture were rising out of the sand like a block of basin-and-range rock. I set the form on top and prepare to fetch sand.

"I visited your Web site. Good stuff."
"Thanks." I vaguely remember him from some other day.
"Where do you get your tools?"
"I make most of them. Some I buy and modify."
"I like the big orange wheels, too. Good for the sand?"
"Yes. I found those on the Internet. Along with the trailer. And the stainless steel shovel."
"Stainless?" He pulls it out of the sand. "What's this made for? Yuppie gardeners?"
"Close. It's designed for ditch tenders. Irrigation workers. Mud won't stick to it so badly, but it's expensive so I would imagine few of the real ditch tenders have them."
"I did irrigation work in Australia. They have these huge crayfish that burrow between the rows so the water won't stay where you want it. You find a burrow, smash it with the shovel and hope you get the crayfish. Next day it's back. They're all over the place."
"Crayfish?" I can't quite picture them living in fields.
"Not like the ones you know. They're big. Called "mud bugs" or something like that."
We talk for a time. He has just come in from Alaska, the latest in a long series of moves. Now he works for Starbucks.
"I have to get to work. Have to go to the Valley for a few hours. Maybe I can come back to see the finished sculpture."
"Have fun!"

I resume the familiar cycle of fetch, filter, tamp and water. The sun moves, waves batter the rocks, the wind moves around and the world warms. A large group of dolphins swims south, splashing just beyond the breakers. A single pelican floats low over the sparkling water.

"Hey, what are you doing?"
Oh, more hassle. The voice is unrecognized. The face, however, is familiar.
"Hi, Jim. You finally came to a day where you could no longer avoid working?"
"Every once in a while, you know."
"How are you?"
"Doing well."
"Still doing the golf?"
"Oh, yes. My dad has a new thing, the tour for golfers who are trying to get to the pro tour. He likes it because it doesn't have the big egos. It's fun."
"Sounds good."
"Oh. The boss is ready. I'd better get back."
"See you later."

3. What Main Sequence?

One day, one sculpture. It's an old rule. Call it the "Main Sequence," in which each sculpture uses what was learned in its predecessor.

It happened unannounced in Harrison Hot Springs, four sculptures made in three days to reinforce each other in a large setting. The next one was at another contest, necessitated by the failure of the large monolith and enabled by having help. The third multiple was also for a contest, and again I had help. No, the real end of the "one day, one sculpture" idea came a month or so later.

Three sculptures in a shaped base, one day, and I spent the next two days recovering. It was ridiculous, and I could hardly wait for the next chance to try it. Multiple sculptures do something one can't. They fit in their environment and include the rest of the world. The monolith stands aloof, erect.

So, there came to be multiples both formed and free-piled. They used sand both good and bad, screened and unscreened. They were on raised bases or they were in pits. They were close to each other, or dispersed. Experiment. Only a few of them worked.

There's only so much concentration available. One day's worth of energy to spend, one sculpture or several, what will it be? One finely detailed piece, or a group each of whose individual pieces may be lacking but the ensemble makes up for it. At least ideally. Making a good multiple is much harder than making a good monolith.

So, let's make a monolith. I feel like concentrating on just one piece. Except that confusion still rules the day, as many ideas compete for the chance to be made real.

4. From This MIstake Flows The Rest

I start with a broad dome, nearly the full size of the column. Nearly circular, I had an idea for a thin shell over multiple legs, with one large panel across the middle for design, reflecting light, but also as engineering insurance. As I carve the dome, however, things go astray. A few cuts and the dome has started turning inward.

"A lingam."
"Could be." First time I've heard that. The parallel is close, but then it doesn't take much imagination to work with a cylindric object twice as tall as it is wide, with a rounded top.

This changes the whole design, although I didn't realize it at the time. Now the engineering demands are greater because the dome bulges and that bulge must be held. It's also harder to carve because of the dome's skirt; I have to reach upward. Long-handled tools are my friend for this. Reaching far inside uses up nearly all of the Steel Finger.

"What is it?"
"What do you see in it?"
"An octopus?"
She has a point. Pulpo. Soft, flowing, even with tentacles.

Careful work with tools gradually opens the various spaces. Light does gather in there and reflect from other surfaces; I like glowing holes.

There just aren't enough of them. Too much of the sculpture is solid, and many of the openings aren't aimed at the sun. Maybe at sunset they'll be better, but my crabbiness index rises with fatigue.

"Are you pleased with it?"
"Somewhat." Larry has been watching for the last couple of hours. "It doesn't really hang together." I can't describe it. I'm simply disappointed.

5. Imagery

I walk around, photographing. Well, part of the problem is the base. Not enough definition. I pick up the Vertical Roadgrader and go back to work.

"Are you going to stay for sunset?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, I'm getting cold. Didn't bring a jacket, so I think I'm done."
"OK. Good night."
Sand sculpture isn't good for social activity. I just want to make this thing better, and the reworked base helps. Now the sculpture's immediate base slopes down into trenches, kind of like subduction zones. I've piled the waste sand above the edge, and this slopes away. All it takes is more work but I just don't have any more in me.

Ten images, one sculpture and none of them gained the ascendancy. Later that night I begin to think that here's the point where a drawing would help the process. I could perhaps stay with one idea, and sketch them so as to limit the bad ones. But that way lies trouble: lack of spontaneity and those wonderful surprises. And part of the challenge is the turning of a bad idea into a good one through working at it.

Well, this one is done. The day's energy spent in a partial success. This one has some nice interior shaping. Too bad it's all so hard to see. Maybe I should call it "Autobiography."

I shoot some more photos after the base is finished. Waiting for sunset would produce better results, but I'm tired of the whole thing. Finished. Clumsy men trying to get photos demolish the stack of balls Larry made, and they go on to wipe out my signature and the surroundings. Can't even get the thing finished before people mess it up. Maybe I need a rope cordon on these spread-out pieces.

At least it's still standing as I walk away an hour or so before sunset. It's rather nice being able to see where I'm going as I ride north. Ultimately this sculpture failed under the load of expectations I heaped onto it.

Written 2003 February 9

February 15: 03M-4

2005-06-07T12:49:00.000-07:00

This is another offshoot of the multiple experiment. I free-piled all the sand for this rather than using forms, and this enabled better base integration. The time pressure was even greater because these, being below the tide line, get wiped out early. They're smaller so quicker to make, but as the year progressed I got into more detail.

03M-2 and M-3 were precursor experiments done in late January. I didn't take any pictures of them.

February 16: 03M-5

2005-06-06T12:55:00.000-07:00

I'd had so much fun with 03M-4, and was so fascinated by the concept of integrating landscape and sculpture, that I went back the next day and tried again.

February 22: 03F-3

2005-06-05T12:58:00.000-07:00

Returning to single sculptures, but with some basal earthworks that are a holdover from the multiple-sculpture experiments. A report follows the images.

Think About This

I.
Long after sunset. A cold wind rattles the tree branches and the moon draws stripes of silver across the buildings.

A low moan comes from ahead. I slow my walk. An answering wail comes from just to my right and then I see two cats faced off, looking daggers across a few feet of pavement. The hair has risen on their backs. They're waiting to see who will back down first. Most of the time no one is damaged in these contests, but sometimes neither will come to his senses and then you get flying fur. These two are young. Don't really know what they're doing, and on the verge of claws and teeth. One step and I could distract them.

I don't have to. A big grey cat appears out of the shadows and it's as if he says to the younger ones, "Knock it off, you idiots. Save your energy for something that counts." The two slink away, and I'd swear the grey one winks at me. Now he looks to be about half as big as before and I follow him to the shop.

"Come on to the back. I'm just cleaning up."
"Who can tell?"
"Oh, don't give me a hard time."
Boneless cats are draped around various objects in the warm shop, eyes half open as they decide a head-scratch from me isn't worth moving for.
"It's not much of a night for walking. I can tell by your hair. What brings you out?"
"I like nights like this. Windy, clear, cool. Most of the time the weather around here lacks drama. This is a nice change. But what I wanted to talk about is sculpture."
"Easy. We should be able to answer all questions in a minute or two, then get on to more difficult things." He laughs.

"The question started out as 'What makes a good multiple sculpture?' I thought it would be easy. After all, good individual sculptures are a matter of feeling and I know when I connect. The multiple . . . it's different . . . "
"Why would you be surprised? Ideally, you'd have several great sculptures that somehow connect."
"Yah. What's the connection?"
"That's not your problem."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You spend, what, nine hours making a monolithic sculpture?"
"About that. Depends on the season."
"Daylight, yes. Does Ralph care what kind of sculpture you're making?"
"Hmmm?"
"Sunrise to sunset, one sculpture or four."

"Yah. The idea still appeals to me. The ensemble is interesting, but don't look too closely because each piece is primitive. LIke something I made years ago. I end up with an interesting base and earthworks supporting sculptures that look too familiar."
"Maybe you need to rethink it. Find a new way to simplify the individual sculptures. I'd guess, though, that by the time you've packed all those piles you're too tired to think about design."
"Yah. I've thought about sketching a design beforehand."
"Starting to think like a pro, are we?"
"Bite your tongue. Call it convergent evolution, distasteful as it may seem." We laugh.

Wind whispers in the chimney over the coals. One of the languid cats shows signs of life, sitting up to wash its face and the others look slightly miffed. No one should be showing so much ambition; there's always tomorrow.

II.
The day comes in with offshore breezes, clouds and a low tide. The new big clamshell fits in my pocket and my hand holds three more essential tools. The little offset spatula fits in another pocket. The skateboarding sand sculptor is ready.

Rose Avenue ends at the beach. I have to take a sharp turn north to avoid crowds, making a 180 in an open space to turn south.

The tide is full-moon low, exposing good sand layered with coarser sand, with shells mixed through all of it. Just for a change I build four small piles, close together. Another change is that I don't put any conscious effort into making the sculptures relate to each other because this hasn't helped much. Each sculpture is different, none of them a world-beater, but they do go together nicely and the base turns into the outstanding part. Mirjam, in an Email message, calls it a Hobbit village. As an ensemble it's nice.

The next day I try it again. This time I get one long, low pile and a taller tower-on-base type. The low one ends up being an interesting mix of stretched-out horizontal elements and a more vertical section, with even some microsculpture but the other one is nothing much. Again, the earthworks are the best part. Fun to make, delightfully loose and wandering. I'm surprised by a few hints and go back to strengthen them. Tool problems limited what I could do; I should have brought the whole kit. Even the vertical throw-away sculpture adds something in contrast with the lower one. I skate home, pensive on the quiet skateboard.

III.
The day is warm but still windy. Everything is dry. I can feel static electricity as the grey cat rubs against my leg.
"Careful there. You'll zap your nose."

Today he's working on some complex piece of wood, taking tiny strokes with a very sharp knife, then sighting along to see how it's going. Light fills the shop.
"What's going on?"
"More experiments in multiples, this time free-piled."
"How'd they go?"
"All right. Yesterday's was the better of the two; one of the sculptures was actually worth looking at for itself."
"How'd you do it?"
"It was low and long. I tunnelled into it and had some long horizontal elements that came out to the beach and ended in earthworks. I also included the second piece but should have cut it off six inches above the base."
"What was wrong with the second one?"
"Too familiar."
"Time?"
"No. Just that the sculpture was too dry and I was afraid to touch it to do anything else. Needed a sprayer. At least."
"Sounds like you've eliminated some of the problems."
"Yah. But what did I do?"
"Like the one a few weeks ago. The base held it together."
"What a change. The base has gone from being a support to being the major part. The sculptures are incidental."

IV.
"Are you sculpting tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Any idea of what it will be? Multiple or single?"
"I haven't decided." Although recent experience indicates that I'm better off doing free-pile multiples.
"Well, I think it should be a monolith. You make better sculptures as singles."
"I'll think about it, Larry." He and George both have believed this for a few months, and I'm beginning to think they're right. Not only that, but that the multiples have had a bad effect on my singles. Each piece should move the state of the art forward and I don't do that very well when the individual pieces are throwbacks to 1998 or earlier.

The one thing I have learned solidly is that the base counts. Single or multiple, spending some time making a good frame for the sculpture helps. It won't turn a bunch of low-bid sculptures into genius but it will elevate them into something worth looking at. What a base will do for a single is still an open question.

Build number: 03F-3 (lifetime start #269) screened low-tide sand (upper quarter filtered), on large domed base at center of circular borrow pit
Title: "Proudly Single"
Date: February 22
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0645; construction time approx 9 hours
Height: 3.4 feet (Latchform); riser height about 10 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: Mirjam Boelaars
Photo digital: 48 images, Canon Powershot G2 (includes Rich's)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/G2, process; Larry, w/ Jazz, carving and complete
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: Larry, w/ Elura, process, atmosphere, completion
New Equipment: none

1. Comparing Winters (Draak in the Snow)

Mirjam has been working too hard. Overbearing museum managers, demanding clients. On the other side is winter, her images of Dragon Dancers in the snow interesting but it looks cold to me. Great pressure is applied and the little watermelon seed slips sideways from between and lands in Santa Monica.

Fog obscures the Venice Pier, but it's not solid. I can see mountains to the north. February. Cool, with a slow offshore breeze. No snow in sight and the only dragon is in my imagination. Under the patchy levels of cloud I set up Sand Sculpture Base and go to work.

First step is the base. Simple. No fancy elongated and shaped piles of sand. Here I dig a circular ditch and throw the sand in the center, with the idea that the sculpture's sokkel will be a smooth dome in the middle of the depression. Will it work? Who knows. The form goes on top and I fetch a load of low-tide sand and start filling it.

The one-day beach sand sculptor needs to be fierce. Otherwise all the work won't get done, but the talkative doctor, on a walk south with a friend, is just too much to resist. We talk for about five gallons; he wants to read my info sheet on his radio program.
"Tonight we're talking about diabetes."
Oh, boy. Just what I wanted to hear about.
"Diabetes Mellitus. Sweet pee disease. Old-time doctors used to taste their patients's urine to make the diagnosis."
Then he starts to read the info sheet out loud. I have no idea how this will work into his program but he does it so well. A rolling voice, used to the microphone and the fast thinking it requires. He turns my pedestrian prose into an event. Then he smiles.
"That's why I'm a doctor. I like people."
He also likes his own voice. I hardly have to answer any questions because he does it for me.
"Listen tonight. Nine o'clock on KRLA."

I pour in another bucket to make up what the conversation cost as the doctor and his friend walk north. The sand is mediocre and I'm using the Quick Filter to save time. It allows small shell fragments to pass through but no sculpture-breakers. Toward the top of the pile I switch to using the Box Filter because the sculpture's plan calls for very thin legs up here and even a small shell could cause a problem.

Off in the distance a woman waves to me. I wave back. We hug when she arrives.
"Hi, Mirjam."
"Hello, Larry. What can I do to help?"
Jet lag and all, she's ready to go. When she turns around to put her sack on the table I see the sandy print of my hand on her back. Oops. Well, that's what you get for hugging a sand sculptor. All the way from Holland to help with a sand sculpture, and this is her third time. Most people call it quits after one. Now she loads the filter and hands it up to me, which means I don' t have to step back from my precarious foothold beside the form.

A screen is only as good as the user's technique. I've been dumping the detritus out beside the borrow pit and now we're using that spot for loading it. Of course shells stick to the bottom and eventually I remember to rub them off. There are problems ahead but for now the piling is finished.

"How are you? Pretty well over the jet lag?"
"OK. It gets worse after a few days."
The low clouds are breaking up and blowing away, disappearing under the strengthening sun. Our day warms.
"I have sandwiches. Also grapes and some chocolates."
"I brought oranges and the usual Zone bars."
"When do you know to take the form off?"
"I used to dig a hole at the base to assess wetness. Now I just know." We fetch another load of water and by the time I've filled the sprayer the pile is ready. The latches pop open to reveal an evenly-layered block of sand. The lower layers are thicker. When Mirjam got here she loaded less sand into the filter so the layers are thinner. This is good. Thin laminae are stronger because the coarse part of each one is thinner. I wash the form off and get the tool tub off the trailer.

2. Concentration (Why Visit a Sand Sculptor?)

The starting idea is one I've been thinking about for a few weeks. A broadly curved dome with sharp edges, supported by many thin struts. After the struts are carved I intend to carve the dome around their ends, as if the whole thing were canvas being held up by poles.

Initial shaping goes well. I trim the top and undercut the rim, then shape the dome. Mirjam watches.
"I used to just carve the sculpture but a few years ago I became more concerned with the overall shape. What it looks like in silhouette. I wanted something more than just a cylinder, and I've learned that the only way to get that is to carve the overall shape before opening it up."
In this case, it means lots of outside shaping to arrive at a graceful silhouette.

Try harder. Take your time. The day is almost an hour and a half longer than deep winter as we roll toward spring. Notice what you're doing and visualize how a planned cut will affect the sculpture.

When that process is over with I realize there's no room for the planned struts. I'd have about three of them. Well, I still like the shape. Work the spaces into that. Accent points, contrasting areas of smooth sand. Don't just start cutting. Sketch, wipe out and sketch again. Sometimes I even sketch the part on the beach to give me some idea of what it will look like without marking the sculpture.

The lower part was intended to be a stack of curving horizontal elements, rings with spaces between them, but now that I've abandoned the vertical struts the rest of that original plan goes out the window. I proceed in the same subtle fashion, thinking about where to put spaces and how they will affect the rest.

Hunger forces a pause.
"Lunchtime. Can I have a sandwich?"
"Of course."
Mirjam and I picnic there by my table. I'm not much of a conversationalist at any time. Sculpture days are even worse as I think only about the sculpture. I hope she's enjoying the beach.

She seems to be. Passersby stop and Mirjam strikes up conversations with them. When Rudy and Siggy stop, they go on in German with the sculpture as the social nucleus. Interesting.

The day progresses. Design decisions have to be made. With just one sculpture to make I pour myself into it, staying the carving hand until I'm sure that the cut will add more than it takes away. The last F sculpture had a septum between the top's two halves, and it didn't do much. This one's divider gets some small holes to lend it definition. You can't see something until it has holes in it.

Rich comes by shortly after lunch.
"There's a cookie shortage in Manhattan Beach."
"I forgot to buy some last Thursday, but Mirjam saved me with sandwiches. I'll give you holes anyway, on credit."

Surfers work the low waves.
"A pelican. Northbound."
I look up. Lone pelicans are rare and this one soars, wingtip to wave, on the displaced air. It's a perfect day for sand sculpture, cool, a mild onshore breeze under thin clouds that make the light gracefully soft.

"What would you have in your life if it weren't sand sculpture?"
That one's not on the FAQ. Larry has been watching with Rich and Mirjam. "Good question. I have bicycling, hiking, various other activities, but nothing creative like this." I think some more, tool paused on the side of the sculpture. "I really don't know. In one sense, sand sculpture saved my life; if I hadn't had this some years ago, I might have simply quit. Pulled the plug." This is greeted with complete silence, reinforcing my idea that sand is a very thin shield against meaningless life. What do you do when someone tells you that, but for sand sculpture, he'd quite likely have ended his own life? Not a great conversational opener.

There is some truth to it. There are many distractions available but sand sculpture is more than distraction. It's something worth doing for its own sake, something that has become a priority. Deprived of sand--say, by a bad back or some other physical problem--could I move these feelings to another material? Well, answer no question before its time. My tool starts moving again, and sand gently peels away and falls to the beach.

Where else could you simply throw yourself into one thing for one day and then have it over with? Other projects just go on and on until they bring no more joy. Sand sculpture comes in self-limiting manageable bites. One sculpture, one man, one day.

This one is looking good. It has an interesting interior that has people standing on tiptoes to look at, or crouching. With Mirjam's sandwiches and the longer day I've been able to maintain enough concentration to get past many of the default designs. This one sings in a new voice that obviously contains themes from prior work. I wonder what three or four like this one would look like together. Yah, you and what army.

3. Back to Basics (In and Out of the Pits)

"Well, that's about it. Time for clean-up. And I don't know how I'm going to do it. I thought microsculpture was hard to clean up, but this one has sand-catchers everywhere." And many parts that have been left rough so that I could work on another part that fitted with it.

All it wants is patience, and we do have time.
"Three o'clock. You have daylight."

"Mommy, he has a pile of sand in there. Tell him!"
"He knows."
"But he needs to clean that out!"
"I have to start at the top. If I don't, that place will just fill in again." And it does, even with starting at the top. All the holes connect to each other and sand moves around with a will of its own.

"Are you going to carve the base of this one?"
"Yes, Larry. It's going to be fairly simple, however."
Stone simple. I drag the waste sand out of the ring-shaped borrow pit and deposit it on the edge. Once the sokkel is shaped into a dome, I scatter loose sand all over it.
"I'm surprised. It's almost symmetric!"
"Yah. I had to start that way, but that's just the overall shape. The holes aren't symmetric."
"I didn't mean the sculpture. I meant the base!"
"Oh. Yes. I want a base, but not one with a strong opinion. Symmetry just fades into the background.. The only voice here is that of the sculpture."

Around the base I smooth out the sand into slope that goes slightly above grade, then slants back down until it meets the beach.
"I thought you didn't like having sculptures on top of a pimple that's about to pop."
"This doesn't really look like a pimple."
It looks more like a meteor crater whose central peak is more fanciful. I've tried other base designs: ridges, headlands, more complex shapes. None of them worked well.

"This works."
It's growing on me. The crater's rim acts as a frame, and the sokkel lifts the sculpture out of the crater so it can be seen. Simplify. The mistake I was making in 1984 when I first tried extensive bases was making them too complicated. I tried to continue the sculpture's lines into the base and the complexity set up an argument with the sculpture. This is different. Strong presence, but the base is just where it should be: a supporting role.

4. Glow (Coming Together)

The four of us sit on the sand, casting long shadows past the sculpture.
"It's a good one."
"Yes."

It does ring.
"I like it. In particular I like the fact that some design elements I've been trying to get to work for months have finally happened. Like that strong horizontal piece there. I've done that before but it has never worked. Here it adds to the piece."
"I like the part farther around."
"Yah. Nice holes back there, and I love the way they're collecting light.

This is a good one. Remember it in the dark days ahead when the sculpture sits like a silent leaden ingot on the beach. What it takes? Keep working at it, but don't do too much. Be aware. No wonder the multiples haven't been satisfying. They're unattended orphans sacrificed to the idea of family. This one has had my complete attention for nine hours and has grown up to be a sturdy and beautiful offspring of my mind in conjugation with something else.

We sit, conversing. I look at the sculpture, rising from its dome base. The proportions are good. I wonder what would happen if I flattened the ringwall out and graded it down to the bottom of the sculpture's sokkel? Groaning, I get up, stagger over to the tool tub and get the Vertical Roadgrader.

"When do you quit?"
"Still have some energy left? You obviously didn't work hard enough."
"Too much daylight for you to resist?"
Scoffers. You Only Become Great If You Try. I don't dignify their catcalls with any response. I quit after smoothing out about 80 degrees of the ringwall, and sit back down with my friends.
"I like the ring better."
"I think you're right." I don't want to, but am unable to resist after a few minutes of rest. Back to work, rebuilding the ringwall. Then I work my way around the whole piece, evening out the ring's edge. Then I go get the big brush and smooth it all out, rounding the ringwall's edge while I'm at it. Then I sit down again.
"Yes. That's better."
The difference isn't great, but the ring has been softened so it calls less attention to itself. I can see that this calls for balance, somewhere between the ring distracting and not defining the space strongly enough. The current compromise is good enough. I put the tools away.

What makes a good sculpture? Why do all of my companions like this one so much? I feel it, ringing in my tired bones. I feel good and can't help looking back as we stagger away from the worksite with our various loads.

5. Plug (I'm Not Gonna Stay Awake For This!)

Mirjam gave me the last sandwich for dinner. I made some broccoli-fortified tomato soup to go with it, which was just right. Thanks to her I arrived home in something other than an advanced state of starvation. After I wash the sand off I feel almost human.

Bedtime coincides with nine o'clock.
"This is KRLA. Next we have Healthline."
The first part is an advertisement for a hospital, for which the doctor coincidentally works. Then he starts talking about diabetes. "If you're concerned about this, talk to your doctor. If you don't have a doctor, call my hospital. I think they're the best." What a surprise. I'd rather sleep. Click.

6. The Drudge and the Sparks

Bert has enough enthusiasm for four ordinary people. Today his project is to bring a different kind of sculpture to the Venice Boardwalk and I skate down, somewhat wobbly in my post-sculptural state.
"We've already been yelled at by the bludge. 'Hey, man, what you doing? You can't build there.' So, we moved. No problem." He's smiling. The usual parade passes just a few feet away. Some of them pause to watch as Bert works on a human face. Larry Safady is a few feet north, working on two fingers spread in the peace sign.

"You gotta come to Mazatlan next year. We had the Mexican Army there to do pound-ups. You tell them what to pack and they pack it! It was great. Hotel, food that's OK, what more could you want?"
I trot out my usual argument about it being so simple to do what I want to do right here: make sand sculpture. But, an army? Wow. And three days? A real multiple? For the price of an airplane ticket.

I head on to the Breakwater. Last night's tide utterly removed my sculpture. I'm tempted to start something now; the clean beach is inviting. That's fatigue speaking. No real need. Yesterday's sculpture still rings in my mind.

Written 2003 February 23, 24

March 1: 03M-6

2005-06-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

And here's a rare construction image, shot by my friend Rich. Another friend, Larry, was here doing his own free-piling and I borrowed his sprayer to keep my sculpture damp. Usually I run these as the "lightweight" edition and take just a few tools... and my hands.

March 8: 03F-4

2005-06-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

There are some elements in this sculpture that presage coming events. They wouldn't show themselves clearly for another year but they're there.

A report follows the image assembly.

About Time

He stacks rocks in a ring, up and out. Balance fails and rocks hit the sand; I can see on his face the effects of failure. He builds again, and again, and again. Each time he gets the pile taller but Nova Scotia's wide tidal range is covering the beach behind him.

In the late afternoon he tosses the last few small rocks on the top of his egg-shaped cairn. Salt water laps at its tucked-in base. It comes higher, slowly engulfing the elegant porous shape, making small eddies downstream. Higher, higher and then it's gone. Rippled water covers the spot. It's there, he knows it's there; he can feel it.

Near sunset the cairn's tip comes clear, then is covered again by a small wave. Revealed, covered, revealed to stay. Water pulls away and the cone stands. Andy Goldsworthy's camera stands with its feet in the washing waves as the sun spears in through a narrow gap between cloud and island to reflect in a long golden line on the receding water. A gift, he says. Design, ability, idea, brought here on film.

The movie adds to the beauty of his books the magic of movement. Time. I can see the effort on his face, the disappointment, the joy as an illuminated serendipity gleams in his looping icicle.

The last time he inspired me I really needed it. I wondered what the point was in making sculptures that washed away or failed so easily. Tomorrow I'll make another and I have more ideas than I know what to do with. This time the inspiration is more subtle.

Rock cairns. A simple idea, a simple shape. Everyone adds to them on the tops of mountains and in high passes. Goldsworthy builds them of rocks, of ice, of branches. In fields, along highways, beside frozen rivers, in the foyers of high-rise buildings. Some of them only cows know about. Others stand in plain view. All of them share the same shape. Repetition. How about that. Pay some attention here, Mr. Nelson. Maybe you don't need to wield that whip quite so vigorously to get where you want to go. Maybe you should allow ideas to work themselves out over time. Maybe you should even try someone else's idea.

Build number: 03F-4 (lifetime start #271) screened low-tide sand (upper quarter filtered), on large domed base at center of circular borrow pit
Title: none
Date: March 8
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0615; construction time approx 9.5 hours
Height: 3.4 feet (Latchform); riser height about 10 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 27 images, Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, complete; Larry, w/ Jazz, complete
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: Larry, w/ Elura, completion
New Equipment: none

1. Roots

My first experiment with a tucked-in sculpture base was in 1996. The sculpture, "Faraway," not only stood but is still one of my favorites. The tucked-in base gives it a very neat look, sitting primly and lightly upon its sokkel. It became one of my standard design tricks but I never centered a whole sculpture around it again. Repetition means stagnation, right?

Seeing the cairns in Andy Goldsworthy's books later on that year showed me just how nice the shape can be all by itself. Simple. Powerful. Seemingly impossible. It also belonged to someone else.

There are always ideas, more than I can build. I started making multiple sculptures partly as a way to express more ideas in one day but the experience was increasingly frustrating. I couldn't get the things to look like anything other than a neighborhood with lousy zoning. I tried all kinds of tricks for tying the sculptures together. Most of them didn't work.

One day I had three piles built, ready to carve. One was tall and distant. The other two were similar in height but one of them was planted in a depression. The higher sculpture in this duo was somewhat blocky, with a spreading top. The other one needed contrast, I thought, so I made it egg-shaped. By this time I'd forgotten all about Goldsworthy's patent. Having an egg, well, just isn't enough. This is sand. it has, in addition to the outside that a stone cairn has, an inside. I carved three openings in the egg and then carved symmetric detail in there. I was having so much fun carving and enjoying the fruit of improved packing of coarse sand that I neglected basic engineering. The egg's top has to be supported, either from outside or inside. I denied it both and it exploded. It hadn't worked as a unifying factor anyway, but the shape rang like a bell.

I tried more multiples. More ideas, more tricks, more frustration. Seemed like the tighter I tried to plan them the worse they got.

So, I just chucked it. Went down with a few tools and just started making piles. The result, 03M-4, was one of the better multiples and I'd consciously not planned anything. Just make sculptures and let the sand speak. I did it again the next day with an even more severe test: the first unit was a demonstration, the second built purely to test a design component for a formed sculpture. The harmony was strained, but the two still sang together. The next weekend's formed sculpture took these ideas and went farther and I suddenly realized that a multiple is simply a sculpture. The only difference is it covers more space, but it will respond to the same design sensitivity that a monolith will.

Quit worrying. I went down and made 03M-6 and this piece really sang. Trust that design sense and stay out of the way.

2. Copy

Well, look at that. Andy Goldsworthy isn't afraid to copy his own ideas. Maybe it's just fatigue, but I leave the theatre feeling as if he wouldn't be too upset if I borrowed the idea.

Ideas pass through civilization like one of his long green threads, stitching leafy societies together through time. I've always believed that copying was for the incompetent. Real creators do it themselves. Except that they're using societal ideas anyway, things they've taken in without noticing. Otherwise, why would so many people respond so positively to the work? Communication comes from shared ideas.

I arrive on the beach at a fog-shrouded sunrise. Grey light suffuses the world but it's brightening rapidly. I dig the circular borrow pit and build the center up, packing it with my cold feet. The form goes on top. Two hours go by in hauling and packing sand. The form comes off and there it is.

The shape is in my mind. I pick up the older Sand Knife and try to make it real.

Inside and outside. The cairn is symmetric. I can live with that, but can I make the interior asymmetric yet balanced?

3. Departures

I end up with three curving surfaces polished onto the pile. They spread outward and upward from the sculpture's bottom, reach a wide point, and then curve inward again. Between each panel is a boat-shaped area of unworked sand; these will become the windows into the interior. The sculpture's top is a smoothed triangle in which I intend to cut a vertical hole. I also intend to cut small openings through the wider top parts of the three verticals.

Inside. Outside. Shadows and light, lines, surfaces moving around, going inside from the outside and catching until they disappear down a hole. This is what sand is for. A hand, a simple tool, carve.

The sculpture is too symmetric. Symmetry is easy to visualize but hard to carve. If I'm off by just a little it looks bad. I bend one edge of the triangular top around and soften the edge with a subtle curve.

Time. The days are lengthening noticeably as we round the orbit toward equinox. I can step back, look, and feel the luxury of consideration. Winter sculptures are fast. Spring sculptures are more thought out if I manage to shake the winter imperative.

The plan is for the whole interior top to be hollow. Other structures will fill in toward the bottom. And then I'll cut the panels into narrow braided spaces. The assymetric rounding departs from symmetry and also makes the upper corners more complicated. The top now curves downward and the vertical elements won't be defined separately up there.

Dig. Into the pile, first with the heavy-duty Powerloop and then with the more delicate Steel Finger. This tool has finally found its place. Light and maneuverable, and very versatile. It's the only thing I have that will dig well when used upside down. I have to hollow the top somehow.

With the north space well defined, at least at the top, I go around to the southeast and dig there also. When I cut through to the north space the remnant sand suggests a more complicated internal structure. Forget the hollow.

How should it be done? I carefully cut away sand and shape a thick spiral inside the three leaves, and then cut through from the west to free this new idea from the solid sand. The west space goes nearly the sculpture's full height, and will serve as a window revealing the rest of the structure. How to make everything fit becomes the problem, and I submerge myself in it.

The sun comes in on a sea breeze. The begging gull is still here, wheeping away at any adult bird it sees. It even tries a crow. People come and go.

4. Ollie

A man walks up and watches. I barely notice him, concerned as I am with the design of a part in the northern space.
"So, you haven't been out on the motorcycle very much?"
:How does he know? I look at him, questions on my face as I sit there in the sculpture's shadow.
He smiles. "I'm Ollie."
"Wow. You've changed."

I last saw him three or four years ago at a barbecue a friend of ours gave for the Iron Butt riders. These people spend 10 days riding motorcycles and if they don't do more than 1000 miles per day they have no chance of winning. Ollie rides like this all the time. He just takes off from his house, riding until he feels like turning around. 500 miles is a very long day for me, but that would just be a warm-up for him. Here he is, having ridden down from near Stockton just to see a sand sculpture. Typical. An excuse to ride. He's the real thing.

"Are you going to visit Russ while you're here?"
"He's in Long Beach, right?"
"Yes. Not too far."
"I thought about it but probably not."
We keep talking, about motorcycles and riding.

5. The Fruits of Distraction

While all that goes on there's still a sculpture to make. I'm working in the northern space, trying to fit some sort of design in there.

Distraction is part of a sand sculptor's life. It used to be hard to handle; I'd have to shift back and forth from sculpture mode to question-answering mode and that cost time and effort. Eventually I learned to automate the answers. Most people don't care that much anyway, and that rare person who does show more interest gets more personal attention. When Rich is here he gives more detailed answers and thereby helps me keep track of what I'm doing.

Ollie is different. He rode all that distance, and I want to find out what he's been up to. My mind wanders and the carving hands go on autopilot. After a while I realize I have a strong default shape carved, and there's nothing to do with it. Sand can't be replaced. The inverted elbow will just have to stand. I cut into it to make a thin sheet coming out from the sculpture and this helps.

It's not ugly. It's just not as good as I'd hoped for. As trades go, however, this one was pretty good. My choice. Talking face to face with the man behind the stories and Email messages and photos.
"I have this APS camera now. No more disposables. I love it. Easy to carry and use."
It is tiny, disappearing into his pocket between photos.

"What else should I do here?"
"All I know is there's too much sand." A man after Rich's idealogy; I can tell he has been reading the reports. I agree with him. As the afternoon lengthens I work hard at removing excess sand, and some of the results are surprising.

"I just wish I could rotate it about 24 degrees clockwise. When I started I wasn't thinking about sun; I just started cutting."
"It's still catching some light."
"Yah. I'm trying to open it up a bit more."

6. Two Sculptures, and then One

"Now I just have to clean it up. This could be trouble."
"I think you're right. There are enough holes."
"This is getting scary, Rich. That's the second or third time in the last few months you've told me that!"

I had enough difficulty carving up into the top's hollows. Now I have to reach in there and delicately trim edges to give the holes better shape. Forget about brushing. I just can't get the brush in there.

Larry Dudock, about 150 feet east, is still racing the sun to get his sculpture finished. He got here about 0730 but, what with one thing and another, didn't have a pile ready until noon. Now he's nearing completion.

The sun is a couple of hours from setting on this long spring day. I carefully brush and trim, level by level, trying to remember all the places where waste sand collects. Still, I have to go back again and again as I find heaps of sand that have been forgotten on little bridges between holes.

Long shadows cross the beach. It's getting colder; the light may act like spring, but the air still holds winter's touch. I help the shadows by digging out the borrow pit, shaping the sculpture's sokkel into a rounded mound, and then working my way around the periphery to shape the crater's edge.

"There. That's it. There's something I don't like about that sokkel, but I can't figure out what it is." The last time I did this the piece sat better. This one is too dramatic. Too high? Too abrupt? I'm too tired to figure it out.

Rich, Ollie and I stand there in the late light, cool sea wind wrapping around us, talking about Ollie's crash. A year and a half of healing, along with much effort, and he's walking and riding.
"Lar!"
I turn and look at Larry. He's waving me over. I give him a brush-off because Ollie's not finished yet, and there'll be time for him later. A few minutes later he's more emphatic.
"If you want to see this thing, you'd better come now."
Rich and I walk over.
"See the crack?"
I don't, until I walk around to the south. There, at the top, is a crack that's wider at the bottom.
"I just noticed it."
"Has it gotten bigger?"
"I'm not sure."
"Probably nothing to worry about then."
He goes on taking pictures. I turn away to look at something else, then turn back. Is the crack bigger? Suddenly it doesn't matter; the sculpture goes on the ground with a series of solid thumps.
"I wish you'd been a little clearer the first time. I didn't know what you wanted, and Ollie was telling a story."
"I was in a hurry to get photos."
"A good idea."

"What do you think happened?"
"You had that east side panel very undercut, and it was heavy. I think it peeled off and the rest followed it over the side." Something about this explanation bothers me but in my post-sculptural state, I can't figure it out.
Larry points. "This place?"
"Yes." I hold my hands out. "You had it undercut very deeply." The next day I review my memories and realize I'm wrong, as we discuss the failure. "I missed the boat yesterday. There were chunks of sand all around the sculpture, and the crack was wider on the bottom. That indicates that the top was becoming flatter. So, all three uprights were bowing outward, which surprises me. I thought you had them turning in enough. Maybe the top was just too heavy, or it was too dry."
"Not enough spraying? What makes you think that?"
"Just a feeling. I've had a couple of sculptures fall over and I thought they were too dry. No proof, no way to prove it. The margin between horizontal and vertical is very slight."

7. Light and Cold

We walk back to my sculpture.
"Well, folks, I'm going to get going while there's still some light. I'd like to get to Castaic before dark."
"45 miles." I measure the sun. "You should make it." But Ollie stays put for a few more minutes as Rich and I photograph the sculpture.

It's quite a piece. I'd be proud of this one anywhere. It looks nice and is interesting. Its interior changes as the sun slowly moves around, illuminating the spaces and little windows inside. It's hard to see.

"Take a look at this, Rich. You'll need to stand inside the crater. Watch your step."
Down through the sculpture are four levels of spaces and hard parts, some of them rimmed in gold.

When I put my pile jacket on over the windbreaker I realize that, not only is the day rapidly getting cold, but my brain is gone. Its task finished, it's warmly satisfied and leaves the day-to-day operation to a haphazard process that I hope is good enough to get me home. Hunger is a problem. Mirjam wasn't here to take care of that need with her good sandwiches.

"I think that's about it. I'm cold."
"I agree," says Rich.
I pack up and we start across the sand. Larry is still getting his kit together for that long, post-failure walk. Failure or success, you're still tired, but success bouys the sculptor making the trek easier. Nothing is harder than dragging all the clutter of high-performance sand sculpture across a wide dry beach after the day's work falls over.

"Good night, Rich. Thanks for your help."
"You're welcome. Fare you well."
The ride home is slow, the subsequent meal forgotten. The only memory is of the sculpture standing in the sunlight, its blend of planning and spontaneity particularly attractive.

Written 2003 March 9, 11, 14

April 15 & 16: 03M-7 "Islands"

2005-06-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

Be sure to read the report that comes after the images. It'll give you background on where this piece came from, and some hints as to what's coming.

What Need Has a Dragon for a Tiger Suit?

The camera cares not. It sees time and space, but only the surface and its movement. Merciless, stupid, literal. You're a shrinking violet? The camera will wilt you on screen. You're a character, dressed for the occasion to attract attention? The camera will make of you a buffoon, a caricature.

Give it no choice. Reflect only the most fierce photons to its medusa gaze, defending yourself with carefully chosen light. It's the most delicate of shields.

I'd recently read a book about how Scottish people turned up in many key places in the 18th and 19th centuries. The book ranges widely, talking about the Highland Clearances and how the Scots relate to their kilts. I got to wondering about the kilt's history--it seems such an odd garment, with lots of hassle and little protection--so asked my sister Lise. She's a bagpiper.

"You know, if you wanted to get a kilt, you should look at a Utilikilt, www.utilikilts.com. They're of canvas or other cotton, and have pockets, depending on which style you get. [. . .] Kilts seem to be coming into their own. There's a company here called Carpenters in Kilts that I see around town every now and again."

Now, up until this I had never thought about wanting a kilt. 10 yards of wool? Hot? I've heard enough of her stories. Where do my legs go? Besides, what's the point? Shorts are good enough: lightweight, convenient, reasonably comfortable. I visited the Web site anyway. Curiosity, you know. The site has enough attitude for any ten normal sites but beyond that it had something else. A resonance. Frustrated bureaucrat finds a real Tiger Suit, perhaps?

The next day I realize I have found an answer I didn't know how to ask for. Choke Cyclops with a bite so big he can't swallow and turn into Good Television. Slap him in the face. Having no mirror I use my digital camera for a self-portrait screen test. Yes, it will work. Cyclops can't see beyond the surface, but if that surface is designed powerfully to lie in accordance with what's underneath you end up with a form of truth. Otto sells me a kilt. Perhaps he even has a hint of what's happening; it's probably not the first time someone has taken a hard left turn into a new way of presenting themselves.

"Well, Rich, it's a go. Piling Tuesday and carving Wednesday. I'm going to wear a kilt."
"Yah, I read your message. Seems like too much a thumb in the eye of the television folks, but you disagree."
"Normally I'd be with you." I think to myself. A skirt? Something about this has grabbed me and is rapidly making for the north border and I don't feel like fighting to maintain my usual style-denying modus operandi.

Build number: 03M-7 (lifetime start #272); 3 units with earthworks
Title: "The Archipelago of Magic"
Date: April 15 (packing), 16 (carving)
Location: Venice Beach, south of the pier, using imported sand
Start: 1230 (Tuesday), 1000 (Wednesday), construction time 13 hours aggregate
Unit A: 41 inches tall, 21 inches nominal diameter, immersion screened native sand (Latchform), on 10 inch raised base
Unit B: 29 inches tall, 19 inches nominal diameter, immersion screened native sand (Short Form)
Unit C: 45 inches tall, 21 inches nominal diameter, immersion screened native sand (Tall Form), in depression
Plan: Rounded islands in a grouping connected by ridges. Unit A on large, slanting surface. Unit B on small teardrop-shaped island. Unit C in channel between A's island and another to the west.
Helpers: Production Assistants provided by Gay Rosenthal Productions
Digital Images: 93, with Canon Powershot G2 (includes other sculptures, process and complete)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115 and Powershot G2
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none
Visitors: Rich, Jeff van Hoosier, Curtis

1. The Pitch

Calls lead to jobs at a ratio of about 14 to one. Producers think a sand sculpture will add sparkle to the show and they search the Internet. They're based in Santa Monica and they find me. I'm close. They call. They want a building or something, so I send them to another sculptor.

Over the years I've tried to sell my works. I tell the producer that my sculptures are very well received by the beachgoing audience. No sale. They know what they want, just as a train knows exactly where it's going.

"Hi, Larry. I'm Sarah, with Gay Rosenthal Productions. We're pitching a show to Bravo featuring sand sculpture, and we'd like to know if you'd be interested. Please call me back."

"Gay Rosenthal, Sarah speaking."
"Hi, Sarah. I'm Larry Nelson, the sand sculptor, returning your phone call."
"Oh, hi, Larry! Thank you for calling me back."

The voice under the words says a lot. I'm being businesslike, interested but refusing to beg for TV time. She sounds honestly enthusiastic.

"Larry, here's the deal. We're doing a pilot called 'But Is It Art?' that will feature chainsaw carving, junk sculpture and sand sculpture. We were wondering if you'd be interested in participating in the sand sculpture part."
I'm always interested in sand sculpture. "Yes. I'd be interested, but you probably need to see some of my work." This is the usual deal breaker. "You can visit my Web site and see the kind of sculpture I do."
"All right! We'll do that, and get back to you after we've done some more research."
Fat chance. I go on my way, back and forth to work.

"Larry, this is Sarah. We've looked at your Web site, and we love your work. We'd really like to have you on the show."
"Thank you. Whether I can be there depends on your timing. When do you want to tape this?"
"It's looking like April 15 and 16."
I look in the tide book. "Middle of the week. I'd have to take the time off from work, which, with all the war excitement, might be difficult. Does this pay anything?"
"We realize it's short notice, and we'll need to compensate you somehow. We're not sure yet how that'll work out." She sounds as if she will get things done. Confident.
"I'll talk with my boss and find out how difficult it'll be to get the time off."
"Now, who else do you know who does sand sculpture in this area?"
"There's Larry Safady, in Garden Grove. Todd van der Pluym is somewhere around here, and Cathy Colvin in Escondido. If you want to go farther away, Sandy Feet in Texas is about the best I know of. Very creative."

After that, our conversations become interesting. She's actually asking about what a sand sculptor needs in order to do good work. Sand characteristics, water needs, time and tools. She listens.

"This is shaping up, Larry. We'd like to come out and interview you at your house. This is preliminary, something we'll show to the network so they can choose the sculptors."
"Oh, so the choice isn't yours?"
"We're narrowing it down to five or six, and letting the network choose the three from that."
Three? What's going on here? But I'm too busy, too distracted to ask. "When would you like to do this?"
"Tomorrow."
"Um, OK. I'll be home from work about 5 o'clock, assuming the bus is on time."
"Great. I'll be there then."

2. The Tiger Suit

People had been telling me for years that I needed to get my sculptures on video. Do a documentary. Expense and lack of a good reason kept me from doing this, but over the years I began to think that the making of a sand sculpture would be a good story.

Japanese Public Television thought so too. We met on the beach in March of 1998 and I managed to get a sculpture off even with their meddling and time wasting. My schedule was even tighter than theirs, but they didn't appreciate that and we spent a lot of time rehearsing moves that didn't matter.

I was completely naive. Cyclops stared and I did my economical best, saying nothing, remaining dedicated to my task and ignoring everything else. This shows in the tape: there's a sculpture, and a sculptor, but nothing much else going on. It's obvious to me, of course, but the veiwer is left to figure things out on her own. Unless she understands Japanese.

A passerby came up with a camera while I was doing a test piece for the Japanese production folks and asked if he could do a short documentary. We got this together later in the year and I used what I'd learned. Do something. Meet old Cyclops bare eye to eye and hold his attention. Explain. Not all actions are self-evident; the watcher has no history to use in the interpretation of what they're watching. As Kalle taped, I demonstrated. The resulting tape is very good; Kalle's economical editing made the best of my demonstration, and in eight minutes we show the viewer what it takes to make sand sculpture. And I discovered that it's just another way of teaching, which I've always enjoyed.

The way is knife-edge narrow, carrying integrity between extremes. To be forthright on TV calls for delicate overplaying. Foremost is not apologizing for anything. Sand sculpture is easy to play for laughs--it always falls over--but it is my life, my creativity. So I have to show that importance and make the camera respect me. No apology, but also no overimportance. A narrow road. My mother has left some roadmarks and it's time for me to use what I've observed. Tasteful flamboyance.

"Hi, Larry. I'm James, working on the Bravo project."
"Sarah mentioned you."
"Yes. She couldn't make it today, so I'm doing the interview. I'm on the 10 freeway near the 405, so I'll be there in a few minutes."
"That'll be fine."

I just want to be left alone to do what I want to do. Fame gives, fame takes away, and the real work gets lost. There is, however, a good story to tell. Why shouldn't others know about it? The tension builds. The dragon is tired, very tired, of self-imposed invisibility.

James drives up. I'm in the garage working on equipment, and turn to look as he gets out of his car.
"Hi. You must be James."
"Yes. Larry?"
Showtime.

I focus full power on the task at hand. He describes what he wants to do as he sets up the camera.
"I'm not really a camera guy. I'd like to do more, but just haven't gotten the time to do it."
It shows. His camera is good, but set up in some odd way we can't figure out. This is why I bought an XL1: every button is labeled, and each does just one thing. I understand it. We use my camera, tripod and zoom controller. James likes this outfit.
"I want to get more camera time."

Take the question and run. Face the camera. No shyness, no cuteness. Be there now. There's steam behind the words. Let it show. The tale is practiced, but never have I told it so well or so powerfully. The dragon shreds that bureaucratic exterior and just plain breathes fire. I understand what gets into performers, why they keep going back to the stage. There's nothing else like it. It helps that James is a good interviewer, asking the question and waiting for the answer with an expectant look. Dragon pressure, camera vacuum and the words come out flaming.

We run out of light. James packs up.
"Thank you, Larry. There's good stuff here."
"You're welcome. I hope it comes out well." He drives away and I collapse. The dragon really gets the job done but, yeow, what a cost. When you don't know how much is enough it's better to give them everything. One chance. Unload. No matter the expense.

3. The Set-up

"Wayne, it looks like the Bravo Network wants me to do a sand sculpture. It'll be Tuesday and Wednesday."
Bob looks up. He's been very protective of vacation time. "Television? Well, I guess..."
"I'm not sure yet. They're supposed to let me know if they decide to use me."

"Hi, Larry. This is Sarah. How are you?"
"All right. I was wondering if I was going to hear from you again. Has the network decided?"
"Oh, yes. They love your work; the Web site is amazing. Yes, they want you. We do too. Everyone in the office here just loves your sculptures."
"Great. My boss will let me have the time. Is it still set for the middle of the week?"
"Yes."
"What's the location?"
"We want to do this at the Venice Pier."
A hand clutches my stomach. Bad news. "Yeow. The sand down there is terrible. You can't do this at the Breakwater?"
"We're going to have three crews, and need to keep them together. The Pier parking lot works for that."
"Well, I don't know what your other sculptors have said, but I can't work with that Pier sand. The last time I tried the sculpture was only a foot tall."
"I'll talk to the producers and see what we can do. We really want you on the show."
"OK."
"I'm going to have James drop off a package of papers for you to sign; we call it the doorstop. Just sign them and put them back on your doorstep."
"OK."
"Don't worry. It's just standard stuff."

Promise this, sign away rights, indemnify them against any conceivable problem. Fine by me. Just get some decent sand, please. But when the schedule comes in, it gives the location as the Venice Pier.

"Don't worry, Larry. We're going to bring in sand for you."
"All right. I'll be there."

"Larry, this is Steve calling. You have a package here."
Monday. Tomorrow is the day. I walk down to Steve's lab after work and pick up the package from Utilikilts. Do I really have the courage to wear this thing? Don't think about it. It's inevitable.

4. The Zandraak Speaks

"Lise, I'm going to be wearing a kilt on national TV, and it's your fault, so you'd better tell me what to do."
She writes back. "I'm proud to have been your introduction to kilts. Now, you need to be careful. I'd recommend you wear shorts under it. And be prepared for The Question."

I pull the kilt out of the package. It's well made and fits perfectly. The Web site's fitting instructions were right on. With some trepidation I walk down to busy Lincoln Boulevard and show it to Steve.
"Looks nice."
"Thanks, Steve. Now I just wonder how the producers will take it; they've never seen me in anything like this." Nor have I. There's no mirror in the house so the only way to see myself is to shoot a photo with the digital camera and then transfer the image to my computer. You know, that actually looks good. Lise concurs, after receiving the Emailed test image. "You look like you've been wearing a kilt all your life."

Don't give the producers a choice. Tuesday morning I gather my equipment and decide on a three-unit multiple. The theme for the contest--oh, yes, it is a contest, with two other competitors--is "Magic." Loose enough for anything, but I'm thinking of a group of islands.

Then it's time to go. I put on an orange shirt; this will stand out but not be too bright for the camera. The kilt goes on next, over the shirt's tail. I add the belt with the "DEPT. OF TRANS." buckle made from a leftover pullbox label. I was lucky I could find it, and had to rub off the dust with some mink oil. Normally I don't wear belts because of the hassle, but the "neo-traditional" Utilikilt requires a belt to keep it in place. Finally, I add my Tilley hat with its rainbow hatband. The outfit approaches being too much, and that's just right for this. Blame Jamie, the producer. He called me and asked me to bring a few different shirts so they wouldn't have everyone looking alike. I prefer simple solutions.

You can ride a bicycle while wearing a kilt. Even when pulling a trailer loaded with upward of 100 pounds of sand sculpture gear.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you please ride around? We're shooting here."
I know I'm in the right place. They have a stack of tiki torches in a box.
"I know. I'm one of the sand sculptors."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
"No problem. Where are we going to do the sand sculpture?"
"I'm not sure. Let me ask."
Then I see it. A big scoop of sand dumped on the beach just outside the parking lot's wooden boundary. I hope they got some decent stuff.

A woman walks over. How do you tell one person with a clipboard from another? I guess the voice gave me a good enough idea. Her walk is springy, lively, and her face attentive. Red hair flows from underneath a hat.
"Hi, Sarah."
"Larry?"
"Yes." She doesn't bat an eye.
"We're not quite ready for you yet; we'll be starting the chainsaw carving in just a few minutes. Park your bike and relax for a bit. You rode with that all the way from Santa Monica?"
She makes it sound as if I came in from San Francisco. "It's a nice ride, along the beach."
"Go and get yourself a snack. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Well, that was remarkably smooth. You'd think these people all wear kilts for the lack of notice. Then I realize I'm in Venice.

5. Sonata for Chainsaw and Pounder

"Larry, this is Maya."
"Hi, Maya." We shake hands. She's slender, wearing a cowboy hat over blond hair that blows in the cool wind.
"And Greg, who'll also be doing sand sculpture."
"Hi, Greg." He's tall and relaxed. Maya is dressed in black. Greg has a white T-shirt on. For a regular contest I'd be overdressed, but the camera sees differently. No matter. We'll soon be to the task, and clothing won't matter.

"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Cameras rolling? 3, 2, " and a horn sounds. The carvers pull their chainsaws to life but the director doesn't like it. They shut down and do it again. This time all three saws come to life in simultaneous cacaphony and they set to their projects. Redwood logs stand on end by each carver. Soon sawdust fills the air. The good news is that three chainsaws seem only twice as loud as one. The better news is that I have earplugs which reduce the clamor to something tolerable. I shout to Maya and Greg "I like sand sculpture. It's quiet." I don't know if they can hear me.

In my conversations with Sarah we discussed what it takes to make a good sand sculpture.
"The key component is time. Most contests don't allow enough time, so they don't get people's best work."
"All right. We'll plan for that."
We ended up getting two days. Today we'll pack the sand, for which we have five hours. Tomorrow will come the carving, and this is why I'm here. Two days. I can do a multiple the way it should be done! Accordingly, I've brought my tall sailcloth form, the plastic Latchform, and the Short Form. They'll stand overnight and be peeled off in succession for carving.

Maya has huge wooden forms. "Sarah, where can I unload?"
"Drive around the back, and go over to the far end."
"OK." She goes to get her car while I slowly ride my bike over to the designated spot and start unloading.

The sculpture plots are defined by tiki torches.
"Have you chosen spots for us, Sarah?"
"Let me check. I think you can just choose a spot." I start to set up by the southernmost because it's close to the heap of imported sand.
Sarah comes back. "Larry, can you take the end spot?"
"Fine by me." I'm on a roll. Actually, I've been feeling a rising tide of confidence. This is beyond reason; the others are professionals. I still can't deny the feeling. The dragon is ready. I set up my table and prepare the forms. Then I head for the beach to get a load of seawater.

I amble along with the orange-wheeled wooden cart, streaks of rust running down from its screws. Sun warms my back while the wind from the sea salts my glasses.
"That's a Utilikilt, right?"
"Yes. How'd you know?" He's walking along the sand with a friend.
"They used to sell them on the Boardwalk. I thought about buying one."
I hand him a card. "You should. It's a nice product." He walks on, and I get my water and haul it back to the worksite. I'm ready.

They turn us loose with no ceremony. Packing sand isn't glamorous in any way. It's just work. Maya and her husband assemble their first form and carry it over to the building site next to mine. Greg sets up his lightweight pool plastic forms at the north end.

My first step is base contouring, drawing lines in the sand and shoveling out the hollows I need for separation. I have five hours to get this right. I build a long slanting surface for the first pile, which is intended as the centerpiece. This sculpture, unlike most of mine, will have to have a "front" because the parking lot is where all the production people are. I design the sculpture accordingly, with a gradual downward slope to the parking lot. East of the first pile I build a smaller island for the short form. In the back, south of the first form, I dig a hollow for the third sculpture, down to a hard-packed layer. Strange. I wonder what that is. It at least provides a solid foundation.

By this time Greg has filled his first course. Amazing. I don't know how he moved all that sand so quickly. Maya has three or four production assistants flinging sand into that big box as she tamps. They don't use much water.

I have one PA. We soon get a system going: he loads sand from the heap into the Quick Filter. I pick it up and unload it, then toss it back. This sounds like a small thing but it saves much time and energy. Every step saved is valuable; the energy can be used for something else and I'm sure I'll need it.

My plan to use seawater for all the packing comes apart because it's just too far away. I'll use fresh for packing and then have the security guard wet the piles with seawater, which should saturate them and get enough sticky seawater in there. I hope. My worst failures have been while using fresh water.

Wood flies next door. A giraffe emerges from one log. Another looks to me like some sort of jewel on a stem, with something else going on near the base. The third is the standard eagle and pine tree.

Silence. "Lunch. Larry, do you want some lunch?"
"Is it required?"
"No, but we thought you'd want to take a break."
"Let me get this part finished." Sarah walks away. I take my earplugs out and can once again hear the wash of waves against the sand, my normal accompaniment. Then I decide to get some free food; I'm not really hungry, having stoked the fire before I came down here. I expect a bag of chips and a soda.

"What would you like? Eggplant parmesan? Roast beef? Grilled vegetables? Rosemary chicken?"
"Yes." It is all very good.
"Be sure to get one of the cookies, Larry," Maya says. "They're very good."
I do so, and then talk to the caterer.
"Thank you. This is great stuff!"
"My wife and I try hard."
"You succeeded today. I appreciate it."
"Thank you."

After lunch I have a new PA. He's stronger than I and loads the filter.
"Can you give me about half that, please? I'm not all that strong." I manage to get it over the top of the Tall Form and it drops with a thud. Empty again, I toss it back and he fills it.
"How's this?"
"Much better. Thanks."

Then I notice another problem. Water can't drain through that hard-packed sand under the form, so it's flowing out under the form's edge. It has to go someplace. The problem is that the water carries sand with it, sand that's supposed to stay within the form. When that sand comes out the rest becomes looser, defeating my efforts at packing. I fill in around the form with sand and pack it with my foot but it soon becomes loose and saturated. I almost knock it over and start over with a pad underneath to provide drainage but decide to just keep going and depend on the banked sand to keep the rest in the form.

"Give me two more loads and then you're done."
We have an hour left. He gives me two more loads and that's good for the third pile.
"Thank you for your help. I appreciate it."
"No problem. You're welcome. At least you said 'Thank You.' The others have just treated us as machines."
"I usually work alone. I always appreciate help."

I spend the rest of the time working more on the base. The plot is 15 feet square and I bring the earthworks in long curves right out to the tiki torch boundary and think about details. In a multiple the key is to tie the sculptures together somehow. Previous experiments have largely failed, partly because of lack of vision, partly due to lack of time to work it out. This time I want to do better. The problem is that there are so many ways to do it better. Choose one.

"Larry, you're making three sculptures for us?"
"Yes. You gave me the time for this."
"Wow. Wait until I tell the director we'll have three of your sculptures. He'll be excited." Her excitement is infectious.

"She's like Bert, Rich. Has enough enthusiasm for three people."
"I think she'd have to have that to stay in the job."
"Yah."

"All right, folks. Time's up."
I'm content with what I've gotten done. I gather my kit, go to the ocean to get a load of water for overnight use, and get ready to leave.
"You can stay for the chainsaw judging if you'd like, but we won't need you until tomorrow."
"Thanks, Sarah."
"I'm cold. I'm just going to head on home, Larry."
"OK, Rich. Thanks for coming out."
"I should be back tomorrow, but I don't know what time."
"We'll be here until at least 1730."
"I won't be that late."

I amble over to the chainsaw area. The saws are silent. The carvers are adding finishing touches. The giraffe sculpture is head and shoulders above the rest, with better craftsmanship and design. It's simple, elegant, beautiful. The carver has added detail by sawing shallow grooves and then using a torch to darken the patches left behind to form the giraffe's reticulation. Ingenious. The last step is a light coat of linseed oil and then the horn blows. Three times so the director can get the best shot.
"One more time, please."

Cold and nearly shivering from standing around, I decide not to wait for the judging.
"Be sure to leave your clothes outside your door so we can pick them up and clean them. We want consistency for tomorrow."
"OK." I ride away north. The trip seems long, even without the heavy trailer. My mind is filled with designs for the sculpture, and overlaid with worry about the piles. Will they actually be here in the morning? Fortunately I'm too tired for the worry to have much power. Go home, eat something, take a shower, go to bed. Ah, warmth.

6. Hidden Dragon, Walking Tiger

Now is the time. Reach into that other world. Pull an idea out, or two, then fit them into the pile of sand while keeping it within the strength available. It's time to deliver.

I ride south in a cold morning. A steady breeze comes from the east and brings the city's cold breath over the beach. Overhead the sky is blue. Everything looks ordinary but the day is special. Magic is in the air.

First, there's an interview. This one is more formal, done by Jamie, the producer. The dragon speaks, yes, but he has other things on his mind and this interview doesn't go so well. Jamie seems even more distracted than I and less inviting than James was, and I wilt just a bit under the weight of the camera's unattended gaze. Why bother with words when I will soon say the same thing much more clearly in sand?

Now it's Maya's turn. Her interview goes on much longer than mine did. Either she's telling them a better story, or I missed a chance. If you want me to talk, keep me away from the sand.

Finally, half an hour later than planned, we are placed on our green circle marks, ready for the horn. Greg has a three-course stack of pool plastic forms and I've now learned how he filled them so fast: he has a very strong friend with him. Maya faces her large box forms, a stack of three with two bucket forms on top, and I have my three tiny columns. Maya and I got done with packing at about the same time but she packed about five times as much sand. Greg was finished long before us and relaxing on the set while we pounded.

Now the horn sounds and we all run to our sand. We have eight hours.

I start with Unit C, the tall form with the suspect base. If it's going to fall over I want it out of the way. The form rustles and pops as I remove it but the sand stays put. As soon as I can I taper it so as to reduce the load on the base, and in doing that I discover that it's generally soft. My original plan for this piece, two thin slabs flanking a taller triangular prism, with lines of small holes and ribs, goes out the window. I can't make anything thin with this. Another problem is that the lower part is still very wet. Carve carefully.

I start with shortening the eastern part so that the top projects above a level set-back. The taller part starts a line that continues down the south side, twisting and becoming wider as it approaches the bottom. I hollow out on the west side of this and then drill some small holes.

Unit C is intended mainly as support and contrast for Unit A, the centerpiece. As such it can remain relatively solid-looking. I lighten it with holes through the top and a three-way junction inside, with one space farther down just to show I can do it.

Relieved that the sculpture has stayed put, I give it a good spraying with seawater and turn to Unit A. This is to be the focal point. the showoff piece. I open the latches and the form pops off. Neat. I drag the form away and start carving.

This is a much better pile. Well drained, consistently packed, it should hold the open three-leg design I intend for it. I taper it gently and smooth the sides. The camera on the long black boom comes in for a close look so I make a show of getting the curve just the way I want.

Maya gives a soft curse. I look over and see that the top part of her sculpture has collapsed. I'm surprised, thinking it was solid. Later she tells me that she'd tunnelled through and undercut the other side.
"Do you want to borrow my short form to rebuild? I can take it off my column."
"No. We'll just go with volcano style."

I return to work, and then hear a heavy truck. This ought to be worth watching. The driver rolls back the debris cover, revealing a full load of, well, junk. Later I asked about this.
"How'd you choose the junk?"
"We went to the junkyard. Pointed to stuff and said give us a scoop of that, two scoops of that, and some of this."
The director places the truck. The cameras come in.
"Everybody rolling? OK!"
The truck revs up and the body tilts. The stuff doesn't move. It goes higher. Suddenly there's a great clangor as everything falls at once, every little kid's dream, making a huge mess in the parking lot. A few minutes later the assembly sculptors are posed on their green circles and the horn sounds. They head for the pile.
"Hold it! One more time, please."
The rehearsed quick start loses its spark. They've avoided all of that with us in the sand, which I appreciate.

My three legs are well formed. They taper inward toward the bottom, and in the flats between legs I dig holes. Tall holes that will go all the way to a triangular skylight in the sculpture's top. After that I will carve detailed openings in each leg. The verticality should keep each leg in place and I don't anticipate problems. It's a good pile within the limits of the sand. I work my way around, starting the various cuts I'll refine later.

I'm ready to carve the small holes in the western panel when I see the crack. At the top of the southwest opening, and it goes all the way through. There are always at least two, but a quick search fails to find the other one. Time presses. I can't afford to replace this pile, so I get some damp sand and carefully build up a buttress against the leg I suspect is leaning outward. The crack widens slightly and I finally spot the second one, at the tip of the crescent hole in the east panel. Something isn't right about this but I'm too focused on the carving task to give failure analysis the attention it wants. When the buttress is finished the cracks haven't widened any more. I spray it thoroughly, then carve some sand away from the west side to reduce its push on the top. I hope it stays. Another worry. Unit C's soft base, and now this one's crack. It can no longer be the centerpiece. Oh, man, what do I do now?

"Lunch, folks."
Suddenly I realize I'm hungry. When the going gets tough, the tough go to lunch.
"Today we have salmon."
"I'd like some of everything."
The salad tends to become airborne in the strong onshore wind. I sit with Maya and Greg and we talk of sculptures past.
"I don't know how Larry is going to finish," Maya says. "He's spent more time talking than sculpting."
"Well, friends come by to look. This is my home beach, after all."
"I lost the top of my castle," Greg says.
"That curl fell over on mine. I guess I undercut it too much. Now only Larry hasn't had a failure."
Thanks, folks. Just what I wanted. More Murphy bait. I don't tell them that my sculptures are hanging on by threads and seawater. I snag an extra apple cake bar and head back to the sculpture site. Units A and C are still standing. I spray them and then peel Unit B.

This was intended as a simple foreground piece to draw people into the sculpture. That plan is out the window because Unit A can't do its job; now, the rear sculptures will form a backdrop for this one, and it needs to be more spectacular. Pull out those stops. Make it loud.

A camera man follows every move as I carve this piece into a graceful dome. These people have been very well behaved, instinctively staying out of my way as I move around. There are three big Betacams, one of which is on a very long jib. In addition to the two mobile Betas there are four or five people with MiniDV camcorders. This format is nearly as good as the professional ones, lacking mainly color depth and high-frequency sharpness. They offer the advantage of great mobility, and this shoot is taking advantage of this.

"Four o'clock," Rich announces.
"So we have about two hours. I'd better hustle."
Time budgeting. Normally I work until there's no more daylight, but here I'm on a schedule. If I don't finish on time I'm disqualified. That's one of the judging criteria, along with technical difficulty and artistic merit. I should have the technical part sewn up if the sculptures hold. I give them a good spraying and keep working on Unit B.

I want it to look smooth, while retaining the braided look. Polish the outside into the graceful dome, then start the holes. Leave enough sand between to show the dome shape but make them thin enough to look impossible. Some of the holes have to be bigger so as to allow removal of interior sand, and these have to work with the overall design. As fatigue comes on it's harder to maintain concentration. I gradually lose sight of everything around me. Just make it. Design it, cut it, polish it.

I dig around in the interior, pressing my various long tools into service. At least the shape is inherently strong. I gradually break through from one hole to another and then widen them. Waste sand builds around the base. It's looking good, more complex than the others, taking on its role as the whole sculpture's focal point. Its frontal position helps in this ad hoc design. The little sculpture has a heavy load on it, and the larger piece is more of a demonstration of three different styles than the coherent whole I wanted. For a contest this might actually work well. Dragons do like to strut their stuff.

"Five o'clock."
"Thanks, Rich." I carve alone but there are several people who've helped support the process. Rich has been the most constant and today he's even more important than usual. A familiar face in the middle of all this confusion. He watches my back and photographs as I work, getting good action photos.
"I'd better close this one out and start the clean-up. I have a lot of work to do on the base earthworks."
This leaves part of the short piece uncarved, but it works as contrast with the many small openings elsewhere. Unfortunately this solid part faces where the sun will be, so the interior is darker than I wanted. Too late now.

Clean-up consists of trimming rough edges with a small tool, smoothing lumps with a hand and then brushing away the loosened sand.
"Are there layers in there?" Kevin, one of the Betacam operators, asks.
"Yes. See what happens when I brush the loose sand away?"
"That's beautiful. How does it happen?"
"The colors are in the sand. As I pile it, the darker grains settle more slowly and form a layer. Each time I add sand."
"Do you do that deliberately?"
"No. It's an artifact of how I make the pile. I do work with it, and take advantage of it to show depth."
He tapes a bit more.
"Kevin! Kevin! Over here, please."
It's another call we've heard often.

"Sand sculptors, ignore the horn you're going to hear. It's for the junk sculptors."
"Roger that." I turn around. They're putting the finishing touches on their creations. How do you know when one of these is finished? From here I can't tell, except for the middle piece. It has turned into a sort of sled with a bug's framework around it, long spindly legs, long neck, big eyes and serrate mandibles. Long antennae wave in the constant, cold onshore wind. The farther piece has a delightful blue helix in it, but not much overall design. The nearer one, over two times taller than its maker, is even more chaotic.

The horn sounds. The sculptors put down their tools and dash for the green circles. The judges come out. There's no time for me to watch, but Rich goes over to investigate; he'd told me earlier that the giraffe did win the chainsaw contest. Justice has been done there.

"One hour, sand people. One hour."
Sand people? But where's my bantha? And as far as I know they don't wear kilts. Quit being silly; you have a sculpture to finish.

"This is beautiful. You have my vote."
"How much would you take to offer a bribe to the judges?"
"How much do you have?"
We laugh. The PAs have helped a lot on this project.

Unit A gets a very careful brushing and trimming. The cracks have been stable for the whole afternoon. If it will just hold up for another hour. I'm more aggressive on Unit C but its base has become even wetter with my undiscriminating application of water to keep the surroundings wet; this has seeped down into the sump around the sculpture. Be more careful; you've been lucky so far.

I rebuild the stepped-on areas of the islands and shape their contours. This is a matter of balancing, making the shape strong enough to work with the sculptures but not so strong that it overwhelms them. The whole area, fifteen feet square, ideally would look like one sculpture. I add a few low ridges between islands and then brush the whole area to randomize the sand.

I have perhaps gone too far toward smoothing out the earthworks. They look as if they could use more definition but there's no time to experiment. Just refine what's there.

"Ten minutes, folks. Ten."
PAs come and set out the famous green circles.

"Five minutes. When you hear the horn, that's it. Step onto your green circle."
"Roger that."
Someone laughs. I scurry around making final adjustments, including a signature pad carefully constructed by Unit B. As they start the countdown I'll press my hands in and then stand up on the nearby circle just as the horn sounds off. That should keep the "Just one more" at bay.

The countdown starts. I press my hands into the pad, hard, and then push myself up. The practice count went perfectly. This time the count, with all the PAs shouting the numbers, goes perfectly but the horn just gives a sort of strangled breathy wheeze. I think Danny, the hostess, is getting cold and tired and can't push the button. We step onto our circles anyway, and the director just has the people repeat the count. This time the horn honks and we're done.

7. The Judgment

I stand upwind, exhausting my sprayer onto the sand. It's a good piece. Not quite what I'd hoped for, but still respectable. Bert had a point some years ago when he fairly gently--for him--pointed out that most professional sand sculptors just carve what sand is available and don't talk about it. I've always been fussy, but in the last year I've had to change my ways. I've gotten jobs and didn't have access to good sand. The paycheck is on the line. Use what's there and carve accordingly. The missing piece came in late last year with some technologic adaptations and now sand is not so much of a problem. I held it together and it looks good. Dreamland, the Archipelago of Magic, a place I'd like to explore. I like it. The PAs like it.

Sarah comes by.
"This is very nice, Larry."
"Do you feel you got your money's worth?"
"Oh, yes. It's great."
"Thank you."
Will the judges like it? Todd has given signs that he has problems with the design, and he is one of the leading commercial carvers of castles and cute animals, but perhaps the other judges will go for it. Two out of three will be good enough. I want to win.

While waiting, Rich and I amble over to the assemblage sculptures. One woman is photographing them, and turns to me.
"I love your sculpture. It's beautiful."
"Thank you. Are you one of the assemblers?"
"Yes." She points. "She's mine."
I look up. "I see now. From where I was working I had no idea of what you were building. She has great hips."
It's a female effigy, sort of. Twelve feet tall, redwood hips, breasts made of a lampshade and a fan shroud, eyes of something or other, and a soda can belly button on a stick. Whimsy, with design. I like it. The bug is good and won the prize, but this one could also have won for me.

I amble over to the restroom. It's nice having one so close, but this time a burly man blocks the entrance as I approach. What's this about? I just keep walking, with no intention of stopping. Get out of the way or get run over. He moves aside.
"Well, are you a girl, or a guy?"
If you can't tell the difference, you need more help than I can offer.

"Sand sculptors, please come to your circles. We're going announce the results."
The green circles are set in a line about twenty feet away from where the judges and hostess have assembled in the shade of a picnic shelter. Rehearsal goes on and then they're rolling. There's a red carpet with a red-covered circular dais set up at its end.

"When they announce the winner, please walk over here to the stage."
"Roger that."
Danny reads her piece. I can't hear anything.
"One more time, please."
Oh, come on. I have goosebumps on my goosebumps, and I want the suspense over with.

Danny looks my way. "It looks like Larry Nelson is our Sultan of Sand!" I hope Rich Varano doesn't find out about this.

I walk toward the red carpet, and then pick up speed. At the carpet I decide to get fancy. Run two steps, leap upward and spin so the kilt will fly, planning to land on my feet facing the camera, having turned in flight. Too much jump, not enough spin. I land sideways, with more momentum than my tired legs can handle, and have to step backward off the dais. Fortunately it's low. I recover and step back up.
"Careful there. How do you feel?" Danny asks.
In answer I simply start leaning against her.
"Tired, are you?"
"And flying."
"Congratulations. It must have been your lucky skirt." She hangs the medallion from my neck and Sarah hands me a bouquet of fragrant flowers.
"Thank you. This is great." The rest just sort of dissolves in fog. Released from all demands, I come apart. I won. Non-representational sculpture carries the day. Wow. Surprising because I'm just not used to looking at my work in any way but utilitarian, but curiously expected. I've been so fired up in that Tiger Suit that I felt no other outcome was possible; inexorably, step by determined step, to the end. Still, I'm curious about one thing. I turn to the judges.
"I have to ask. Was it unanimous?"
They nod their heads. "We all agreed."
Todd adds "But I'm still angry with you."
"Angry about what?"
"The base doesn't do enough."
I'm too foggy to think about this very much. "I see." The set is breaking down. I stumble off the dais and amble back to the sculptures.

I'm just glad I didn't have to judge this event. All three pieces are good. Greg has made a well-defined castle on a mountain of stars, at whose foot is a deep depression with a road winding around behind waterfalls and rocks. Nicely done. Maya has made a fairy maiden lying in a pea pod, with curls and supporting details. Greg shakes my hand.
"Well done."
Maya hugs me. If only for warmth; she's shivering. "Thank you." If there were a goosebump contest right now she'd be Everest to my Aconcagua.

I shoot my completion photos. We have to wait for the producers to finish a wrap-up shot before Rich can get some builder photos. The light is lovely. I clean up my equipment, then look for Sarah.
"Are you finished with us?"
"Yes. You're free. Thanks for coming."
"Thank you for inviting me, and for your help. I had a good time."

I wander around in a daze, gathering my kit. Then the director comes by.
"This is a beautiful piece. I'm amazed you could carve it that way."
"Thank you. You must be exhausted, all that running around the set."
"I get to rest now. I love this piece. Thanks for making it."
"You're welcome. Your group made it enjoyable." I don't mention how glad I am that I didn't have to repeat anything for the cameras. Let well enough alone.
Jamie comes by for a builder-and-producer photo.
"You did a great job."
"Thank you."
"This is beautiful light," the director says.
"If I had any energy, I'd get my camera back out and shoot a few more."

Rich and I walk over to where my trailer has been parked.
"I'll just keep going from here, since you don't need any help getting it across the sand."
"Right. Thanks for coming, Rich. You were busy! There are almost 100 shots on my camera!"
"Yes. I tried to get pictures of the other sculptures, too."
"Well, thanks. I appreciate your help. Good night."
"Fare you well." He walks away through the parking lot.

I turn to walk back and almost run into Todd. Ah. A chance for clarification.
"Todd, tell me again why you're angry with me."
"There's no connection between the sculptures. You should have continued some lines from one sculpture to the others, to bring them into the same piece."
"Ah. Well, I've tried that. The problem is that basal earthworks made that way compete with the sculptures. The base is too distracting."
"I still think you need more connection."
"You may be right. The multiple sculpture is still an experiment." In a way he's right. I'm not satisfied with the base; it's too soft, too amorphous, not contributing much to the overall piece except support. Well, maybe that's the way it should be. I've done better with some of the free-pile multiples, however.

Around me the crew is breaking everything down and stowing it into trucks and cars. They are quite efficient. I follow suit, loading my kit onto the trailer. That's the easy part. The wind is out of the north, cold and solid.

Everything is loaded. I boost myself onto the bicycle and slowly ride away. Thinking about nothing much, I suddenly wonder about my camera. Wait. Something's missing. Oh, yes, backpack, with the camera inside. I make a slow turn, ride back and find it still leaning against the post where I left it.

Low gear is all I can manage, northbound against the cold wind. At least the work warms me. A last intense spear of sunlight dazzles me before it slips down behind the mountains that would be black if not for the glare from salt blown onto my glasses.

8. That's a Wrap

I won. This feels good. Bad sand, two judges who have limited sand sculpture experience and one who is firmly in the commercial camp, and time pressure. I did it. Professional, yes, but also passionate. It's a good mix.

I eat some dinner and then call my sister. Many people have a role in this; hers is the suggestion that got the Sandragon into appropriate clothing.
"Hi. I won!"
"You won? Congratulations! That's great. CJ's here, and I'm showing her the pictures of you in the kilt. She says you look like a natural. So, what did you win?"
"A nice medallion, a bouquet of flowers, and $1500."
"Fifteen hundred dollars? Wow! Now you can afford to come to the deck's 20th anniversary party next year!"
"Yes." Twenty years? I built that deck, and have been in Los Angeles ever since. We talk some more and then I hang up. Time for bed. Work calls in the morning.

Of course I can't sleep. I stagger over to the bus, glad I don't have to drive.
"What's that around your neck?" the other passengers ask.
"I won the contest." I tell them the story as we roll along the freeway to downtown. We keep up on each other's news, the 10-line Social Club.

I have to tell the story repeatedly at work. The response is always the same: "With all that money you can afford to buy us all lunch." Because I work with three different shops, that would just about wipe out the winnings. Will doughnuts do?

What I don't tell anyone is that it was almost like cheating. Everyone was on my side. Positive energy counts for something, and every bit of it that I got from the production folks went into the sculpture. The competition were far from being creampuffs, and they even had two people each to do the carving, but it still felt to me like a walkover. Surfing. Catch that wave and ride it in. One of those days in which I could do no wrong. They're rare, those days, but fun when they come along.

What's even rarer is that I can let myself enjoy being up on this peak. It won't last, of course, but it's fun for now. Sculptures and sculptors fall down. And sometimes, a bit of push, a bit of dragon claw, a good Tiger Suit and they end up in some strange place higher than they thought they could go.

Epilogue

1. Richard and the Dragon

"Utilikiltarian of the Month:
Mr. May is the serenely talented Larry Nelson from Santa Monica, CA. Larry is 51, and a Signal Systems Electrician for the City of Los Angeles...But he's a well known Sculptor as well. Larry is responsible for some of the most beautiful sand creations in the universe."
--Utilikilts Email newsletter, 2003 May 21 [too busy making kilts to be on time]

Yahoo! From not knowing how to spell "kilt" to being their poster boy in two weeks. Must be some sort of record.

Rich and I met at a Sierra Club Camera Committee meeting in 1995. Since then he has become an essential part of the process, variously playing guard, helper and caterer. I'm no longer truly a solo sand sculptor, and thanks to his photographs I have records even of the sculptures that have fallen over.

Thursday after the contest I staggered in to work. I was very nearly useless but at least didn't make any more problems than I solved. I managed to get home without falling over in front of a bus. I decided to do something harmless: look at the images from the contest.

They sparkle. Great action. Rich has outdone himself this time. An idea suddenly peeks out from the fog. Uniqueness helps win contests, and I'll bet there are no kilted sand sculptors on the Utilikilts Web site. Utilikiltarian of the Month, win a free kilt. The walkover feeling returns. Apparently the wave hasn't exhausted itself yet. I send out the builder image and promptly receive an invitation to fill out the interview. I send that back, along with more images that clearly show the kilted sand sculptor in action.

May rolls around. I figure they'll send me formal notice if I win, but why not check the Web site? In a rare quiet moment at work I find myself in front of a computer with Internet access, and go to the site. Hot damn!

Coincidentally, it's my birthday. Otto calls shortly after I discover the images, to talk about my plans for my sister's kilt.
"Do you want us to make hers the free one?"
"Hell, no. I won it. It's mine."
Well, mine and Richard's. Thank you, Rich.

2. One More Time, Please

The producer has an idea. He talks to the director and they go to the various technical people. What can be done? What can't? How do we get an approximation? After much discussion and planning the operator will pick up his camera, point it and finally press the GO button.

Three big cameras, four or five small ones, two days, three events, one uniting idea to be presented in one hour. Whatever the camera sees, it's only one view. Only a very small fraction of the camera operator's work will show up on the screen; it's the editor who has the final say. What of the original idea? A strong producer will hold to it. A weak producer will be held captive by the editor.

Sand sculpture is one man, one day, one idea. I am solely to blame or to credit for how successful the piece is; I don't know how video producers stand it. How much compromise can an idea take before it simply crumbles under the weight of decision makers?

3. The Strong Line of History

John Strong sailed from England to America in March of 1630. This was no luxury liner. The state of the art was three masts, heavy square sails and rope in a ship barely 100 feet long. The passage was measured in months, not days. Only desperation would drive this move from civilization to cold wilderness. Leave. Make a new life. Go where economics favor the industrious and no nosy government tells you what to believe.

373 years later the state of the art has moved. Sails are recreational and an Atlantic crossing is casual. Religious freedom, however, is in just as short supply but there is nowhere else to go. Last stand, for many things, right here, right now.

For those 373 years there have been Strongs, and there has been a rebellious streak in all of them. Move west. Keep going. Don't accept the status quo. Ride the changes and use them.

The last picture in "From There to Here," my mother's expansive genealogic study of my family, shows me with the Bravo sculpture. It's a very small scale rebellion, but still no one does sculpture like this in sand. I invented it, design, technology, tools. Sometimes I get credit for it, but fame is for TV folks. I'm looking elsewhere. Keep searching. Fame is just another way to get tied down.

In the end, the kilt didn't matter. The sculpture spoke. Good enough.

4. Skirting Life

Life is movement. Pants bind the legs. Why did it take 51 years for me to discover a better way?

Partly, the timing is due to unavailability. For some reason there is now a growing interest in men's skirts. There's even a special word in German for this. The Utilikilt was followed by the Amerikilt, the 21st Century Kilt, the Mountain Kilt. There are even long skirts available for men, and men look good in them.

For me it's the motion. I can move and feel the fabric swinging against my legs. It's a delight, a garment made for walking and skateboarding.

Lise Nelson would have gotten the Life-changer of the Year award for 2003. The kilt is all her fault. That other changes overtook this one is Jack Fox's fault, but that's another story.

Written 2003 April 18
Edited and amended April 18, 20, May 3
Epilogue added May 6, 9
Further editing and rewriting June 14
Amended 2005 June 11

May 17: 03F-5, "Choosing to Join"

2005-06-01T15:50:00.000-07:00

A very rare "commercial" sculpture, this one was commissioned by a friend. The whole story is in the report that follows the image assembly.

Another Job

"Well, now. Don't you look nice!"
"Thank you."
"The kilt suits you well. And there's something more. Walk differently? Something in your face?"
"Yah. I don't understand it. I do enjoy it. No one knows what a change this is, from clothing as pure utility to wearing something I like partly because I look good in it."
"What's it like walking around that way?"
"Mostly unnoticed. A few laughs, in downtown. Some co-workers don't like it. Most of the people who respond at all like it a lot. But mostly no more noticed than any other time."
"Why the change?"
"I thought I needed something to stand out on a TV program for which I did a sculpture. At the time it seemed very important to do something outstanding so the camera wouldn't crush me. Afterward I started wondering about this; video is made by the editor and no matter what I wear the show is theirs. And why stand out anyway? Maybe it was more of a way to prop myself up: start strong, slap them in the face and just keep going. I don't know. But I won the contest!"
"Good."

I'd walked to the shop through the cool spring air. Flowers scented the breeze, jasmine and many others. Late rains have kept things blooming.
"Come on by," he said. "I have something for you."

"So, what do you have this time?"
He heads for the back room, talking over his shoulder. "Something made possible by your European connection. The Zandraak Amsterdam Research Bureau." He comes back with a box-type screen. "Notice there's no wire on this." He hands it to me.
"Right. Just this black stuff all over."
"That's from Mirjam. MS Polymer. 'Sticks like crazy to anything,' she said, and I believe her. I was going to use wire to reinforce it but as I worked with it I saw no need. Notice what I learned from its predecessors. The handle is depressed so water won't splash over the edge. I learned that from the Quick Filter. No complex bends in the hardware cloth, which I learned from the Octascreen. Rectangular plan, to generate turbulence in the water, and that came from the Cercoscreenus along with the return to screening the sides. The adhesive makes the whole thing neater, with fewer sharp ends to gouge the distracted sand sculptor."
"Thank you." We smile at each other. We know what that creative concentration is like. Let there be no tools that bite the hand directed by a mind thinking about other things.
"So, take it out there and see if it works. I have confidence in this one."
"Thank you. It's beautiful."

I walk out of the shop and through the throng of people in the plaza. There's a street fair going on and I amble through, kilt swinging against my legs, Rectascreenus at my side.

Testing it goes awry. The equipment is loaded and I'm ready but other problems come up.
"This is the National Weather Service calling with the forecast for May second and third. There will be rain, occasionally heavy, starting in the afternoon and going until about noon Saturday."
"Oh, come on. This is May. It never rains. Light sprinkles, maybe, but nothing serious. Besides, I'm doing a sculpture Saturday."
"You'd better do the sculpture Friday. Saturday's going to be wet."
"OK. Thanks for the warning, Steve."
"Who's Steve? This is the National Weather Service."
"You sound just like Steve."
"Is that a compliment?"
Rain starts Friday afternoon, and after an hour or two turns serious. Wow. Just pouring down, and it's still going Saturday morning. Light rain alternates with pouring and it doesn't quit until after my tide window has closed. Amazing. I've never had a sculpture cancelled by rain in May; I ride to Manhattan Beach for lunch with Rich and Lorna, and get rained on down there, with a final shower just as I am approaching home after lunch.

All right, then. We still have a schedule to meet. Bert wants a sculpture for his wedding; they plan to display photos. Now, he could have asked anyone, but he asked me. Maybe it's because he and Stephanie like my work. Maybe it's because I'm cheap to hire. No matter. It's a serious project and I'm running out of time. I can't do it Saturday because of Rich's concert.
"I need to take Friday off, Wayne. Emergency sand sculpture."
"Where is that in the Manual of Policies and Procedures?"
"Page, I think, OU812."
"Thanks."
George comes by Thursday after work.
"I want to go to the gym, or something."
We end up walking to the beach. The loose plan is to do some running, some sculpting and some photography but this is blown away by a howling wind. Sand blasts our legs and salt spray coats my glasses. Impossible for sand sculpture so I just walk south. Lots of the purple-rimmed jelly things litter the sand. Whitecapped waves run into the horizon. This bodes ill for tomorrow.
"Oh, maybe it'll quit by then."
"I hope." But wind like this usually lasts a day or two. Strong out of the west. I awaken the next day to the loud rattle of palm fronds and creaking tree limbs. I walk outside for a better feel and realize I've been shut down again.

Wind is the invisible problem. It can blow parts of the sculpture off. It dries the sculpture rapidly and blows the loose sand into my eyes. More to the point, for this piece that requires high-quality photographs, it blows sand into everything. I send out a message: "Sculpture cancelled." Will I ever get this one off? I've been thinking about it for months. It's time to get it done and move on.

Build number: 03F-5 (lifetime start #273) screened low-tide sand on broad riser base edged by borrow pit
Title: "Choosing to Join: A Singularity for Stephanie and Bert"
Date: May 17
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0700; construction time approx 10 hours
Height: 3.5 feet (Latchform); riser height about 8 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 27 images, Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: 2 rolls TMX, 67II w/165mm; first roll on tripod, second handheld
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, complete
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: 1. Rectascreenus. 2. Purchased filter funnel for water

1. Request

"Could you make a sculpture for our wedding ??"
--Bert Adams, Email in early March

"Wow. A request for a wedding sculpture? And I don't have to carve a
kneeling groom kissing the hand of his bride? This is what everyone seems
to want..." I have gotten requests for this, which I've politely declined. I don't believe in kneeling. For anything or anyone.

"Well you don't think I'd ask you to do one of those !"

I should hope to kiss a pig you wouldn't. "I'd be honored to make such a sculpture. It'd help if you could tell me more about Stephanie, and send me a picture."

Abstract. Non-representational. The truth is there's no good word for the sculpture I make because there are always real things from the world in them. Trees, canyons, wind forms. There have been animals, and a few times even shapes that could be interpreted as people. The problem is in doing on demand.

Previous programmatic sculptures have largely failed. Wanting to make something specific I tried to embody the shape and the idea got left out. This discouraged further excursions away from my usual absolute sculptures, but gradually the idea sneaked back in. The finest expression of this came in 2002, when I did two sculptures for Bob Jeffords. He died in November and I made one sculpture as a private memorial, and then was asked to make another for a public memorial service on the beach. Both of these turned out well.

All right. Hold the idea and let the sculpture look after itself.

"I was thinking of a single sculpture, (not a multiple), that had more or less,
two elements that are intertwined or next to each other some way.
But hey, that's just an idea. Go with what you think is good."
--Bert, Email in mid-March

2. Plan

The logical way to do this would be as a multiple. Two people, two sculptures, right? But that's not the essence of a wedding, which is more about coming together. A single sculpture that somehow represents the meeting and culminates in that single moment of showing the joining.

An absolute sculpture owes nothing to anyone. It's my usual no excuses best attempt at excellence using everything I know. Programmatic sculptures carry more of a burden; at the least, it has to mean something. This one is even more burdened because by the time I make it to the beach I'm out of time for a restrike: if it fails for any reason they won't get their picture.

Distraction was provided by flowers. Rain was late showing up but when it did the wonders it produced were spread throughout the desert. I spent weekends in Lancaster photographing acres of flowers, joining Mauricio on training bike rides, and playing with the kids.

Ideas don't need constant supervision. They simmer like oatmeal in the pot at the back of the fire and you can tell by smell and experience when they're ready for the light of day. The hard part of any creative endeavor is trusting this. We hear all the time about writer's block and artists who get stuck. Creativity is a team effort and some members of the team have to be left alone for a time. It'll get done. Occasionally I'd take a look under the pot's lid and see what was cooking. A little of this, a little of that, an idea from last year, some new things, and get out of here now so you don't choke it to death.

Two months of planning is about all I can stand. Get the idea made. Visions aren't static; they build on each other and I've taken this one about as far as it can go. Visions are no substitute for real expression even if they are much faster. There's no replacement for really making an idea.

Friday evening. Calm, humid, cool. This looks good.

3. Tool Testing

Saturday morning. Calm, humid, cool, overcast. The Chamber of Commerce grumbles. I rejoice and load my equipment.

The plan has a long groove coming across the beach to the sculpture, where it turns vertical to make a strong separation that curves back and forth toward the sculpture's top. A groove implies ridges and this thought predominates. I build a tall, elongated base for the sculpture with this in mind.

It's on a natural headland eroded by the week's high tides. Those tides have also played havoc with the low-tide sand and I walk what feels like a mile trying to find the good stuff. Eventually I realize there isn't any really good sand, but the low-tide sand is still better than what's up at the building site. I find the spot closest and start hauling.

The original Quick Filter had its hardware cloth applied as if it were a box, with flaps that went partway across the bottom. The edges were retained with twists of wire. A bad idea. When I made the Octascreen I made its bottom like an octagonal tray, with raised edges. This was even worse because of the sharp bends, which weakened the material. There were no bends in the Cercoscreenus bottom, which gave it great strength. Its only problem was that it didn't work. The Rectascreenus frame is covered by just two pieces of hardware cloth, each one running down one side, across the bottom and up the opposite side. They cross over the bottom and are glued along the edges. Simple bends and reinforcement in the area where it's needed. I load it with sand and place it in the form.

How about that. It works. Very well. No hassle, no problems. The rectangular plan increases the turbulence in the water, but it's not really necessary. The sand comes out easily even with just side-to-side motion. It's not perfect; there are still some sharp edges that catch on my shirt. It's still the best of the Quick Filter family, and it ends this construction session looking just as good as when I started. It gets the highest accolade I can give: it's a good tool.

Another tool, picked up casually at Albertson's, also proves its worth even before the function for which it was bought takes place. Any time there's floating junk on the water it gets into the form. This can be a problem if I set the filter down on top of it, forcing the stuff into the sand. The plastic funnel with a fine-mesh stainless steel screen inside works well for catching these floaters because the water can run out. I'll have to see if I can get one for Larry.

4. NOW is the Time!

And we finally get to the moment. Forget everything else. The buckets are all full, the sprayer is loaded, the form is off and cleaned up. My tools are at hand. Pull the pot off the stove remove the lid. Let's find out what's in there in the only way possible. Pick up the Sand Knife.

Any idea is only partial. Call upon experience and need to flesh it out. The sculpture is round, the vision flat. A curving facet drops from the top, then cuts in to a curve that runs down and out to the bottom. I use the waste sand to build up a smooth transition curve.

It's a good thing the idea is partial. Serendipity comes in the sudden movement or sight of light on an unexpected curve. There is no recipe for beauty. Challenge and surprise and engineering make a fascinating combination.

Recent practice has led to orienting the sculpture with its major openings toward the setting sun. This piece will need sunlight in just the right place so its subtle dividing line will be shown by shadow. That dictates the sculpture's orientation on its base but once placed there's room for holes. After all, it may be for Bert but Rich , if he's able to come, will have every right to expect holes.

Light in and light out. Reflection, shade, shape and the light comes out here. Put a few kinks in the dividing groove to show that not everything goes smoothly. Put some connections across because a relationship, even in the early stages, needs something to hold it together. Toward the top the slot subtly narrows. It crosses the top as a single scarp, then descends the west side as a shallow V groove. It ends in a last teardrop hole below which is smooth merged sand. That's the core. The rest is details and as the afternoon goes on I make these to suit my taste. It turns out to be a powerful piece. I even work some pleats from Bert's wedding kilt into it. Nicely curved, but subtle. I wonder if he'll notice. Details.

5. Conversations

He's a lifeguard I've not seen before.
"This looks good. Too bad you can't take it home."
"Oh, I enjoy the making."
"I think I saw another guy down here doing this."
"Larry Dudock, probably."
"He had this big grid laid out, and was making things on that."
"Not Larry. I don't know who that was." (I learned later that this was Larry's project.)
"How many people are there who do this?"
"A few. I'm the only one who does it like this, one day on the beach, to enjoy the making. The others want to be paid."
"What do you mean?"
"They only do a sand sculpture for a commercial outfit. Malls, that sort of thing. They want to be paid."
"What's the good in that? How do you get better? Only if you enjoy it and do it all the time. That's the only way to get the old ideas out of the way, so you can do something new."
Here's someone who really does understand. "Well, that's what I think. Practice, but it doesn't feel like practice." This reminds me of what Bert has written about loving even the drudgery of art: pounding sand, stretching canvas, wedging clay.
"No real art in those others. I'm a classical guitarist, so I know about practice." His radio brings in a call. "Sorry. I have to go."

"Hi, Sal. I haven't seen you for a while."
"Well, you should be seeing more of me. My house problems are solved. I've moved up into the Hollywood Hills, with the rich folks."
"How did that happen?" The last I knew the man was destitute and looking for a place to live.
"I just fell into this deal. The parents of a friend. They're in their 80s now and he can't drive. The kids don't have time. So I live with them."
"And drive them where they need to go?"
"Right. And I get to use the car, a 1988 Mercedes-Benz, any time I want. And she says to turn in receipts for all the gas I use!"
"Think you can find me a deal like that?" We laugh.
"The car is old, and has a few problems."
"Who cares? It gets you where you want to be, and it's paid for."
"Right! All these people thinking about style and keeping up, that's expensive. A car is just a tool for getting around."
"That's why I have an old Honda Accord. No style, but reliable."
"That's it. Well, I'm going to shoot another round." I met Sal on the last day of 1995, when I was doing the first two experiments in what would soon turn into the Small Sculpture Revolution, and his bouncy video walkarounds are the only record I have of one of the pieces. After that I saw him in association with Terry, who made the pyramids.
"Last year, I was going to Terry's funeral..."
"Terry died?" I knew he was having problems with diabetes but hadn't heard anything else.
"Oh, yes. Last May. I was going on a trip when I found out."
"Well, I'm sorry. I still miss him, walking up from the parking lot with his blue jacket and white sailor hat."
"Yeah. One of these days I'll come down here and make a pyramid in his memory." He packs the camera away. "Well, I'm going to wander on. Have fun!"
"Will do."

"What is it?" Many passersby ask. Today I experiment.
"It's a shape. Mainly supposed to be beautiful. This one is, however, for a friend. He's getting married and wanted me to do a sculpture for them. They'll have photographs at the ceremony. It's supposed to represent them meeting, growing closer and joining, while remaining individuals. There are kinks and twists in there because all relationships have occasional problems and difficulties."
"I can see that."
I hope I wasn't leading the witness. More than one gave this kind of response, however, and some of them didn't need much leading.

"This is remarkable."
I look up. A man, clean-shaven open face, camcorder in hand. "Thank you." Something about him draws me farther out of the sand than usual. I've gotten pretty good at identifying which people are truly interested in what I'm doing.
"I work with kids at home. We try to help them be creative."
This whole deal has "church" written all over it, but this man seems honest.
"They're good kids. Sometimes they come over to our house just to hang out, see what's going on."
I look at him. He's crouched on the sand beside the borrow pit where I'm seated, tool in hand. "You know, that's one thing I miss about being an adult. Kids will get together just to enjoy each other's company, but adults don't do that."
"It has to be scheduled. Everyone's too busy." He holds up his camcorder. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions? We're trying to present various views on creativity."
I look at the sculpture, then at the sun behind its thin veil of high clouds. It's way up there. "No problem. There's plenty of time. I can even get out of the sculpture for a few minutes and really think." I rearrange myself into a more comfortable position. "Fire away."
"Do you think there's some kind of creative spirit that your ideas come from? Where do you feel the ideas originate?"
I laugh. "That's a good one, and I don't have a good answer. I've been trying to figure it out for years. I don't really know. All I know is that I live for creativity. I couldn't live without the ability and the opportunity."
He becomes diffident. "Do you think there's a possibility that the spirit of creativity, the desire to make things, comes from God?"
"That's as good an explanation as anything else. I don't really believe in God, but then I don't not believe in God either. I simply don't know."
"You don't know. Thanks for being honest."
What I don't tell him is that I believe a bad answer is worse than no answer, and, to me, God is a bad answer. He obviously derives something from the belief. All I have is sand.
"I'm here for a conference about creativity and the church."
"One reason I have nothing to do with churches is their lack of creativity. After all, who cares about all these rules? If God made the Universe, I have a hard time believing he could care about whether someone is wearing just the right hat in church." Beware of the brain-dead sand sculptor: the damper of intelligence is gone. There's nothing to check the word-mill once it starts.
"This church is different. It's called 'Mosaic.' They have artists performing while the speaking is going on. Dancers, singers, painters."
This gets my attention. A church that respects these things, that doesn't force them into acceptable formats?
"They meet in Pasadena. Tomorrow."
"Too bad. I'll do the city a favor and stay out from behind the wheel of my car. After a sand sculpture you don't want me on the highway."
We shake hands and he walks away, back toward Indiana.

A familiar face takes his place. "Hi, Rich. I wasn't sure you'd be able to come."
"Hi, Larry. And you remember MIchael O'Kane, don't you?"
"Yes. How was the singing?"
"Loud. If you can hear the singer next to you, you're not singing loud enough."
"Is Fa-So-La the same as Shape-note?"
"Yes. They only use four notes."
Something about this doesn't sound right, but I have my own problems right now and can't concentrate on music.

5. A Problem of Support

While all this has been going on I've been working on the sculpture's base. I can't finish the clean-up until the base is at least roughly shaped.

The problem is that it doesn't work. I keep going, forcing the idea into the sand. I need those two long ridges leading up to the split panel on the sculpture's east side. And I need the single broad ridge leading away from the other side, where the two join. The Plan Demands It. I shape and shape, move sand, carve. It just gets worse.

"Oh, my. I guess I should have taken pictures."
"Too late. It's out of here." I've picked up the Vertical Roadgrader, my mass sand removal tool of choice and started hacking. Chunks of sand fall away from the sculpture's lower parts.
"Be careful there!"
"No problem. That's all sand that I banked up against the sculpture to provide the transition. I should have learned long ago. This stuff never works. Never." I hack away, moving the hundreds of pounds of sand that I carefully put there and tamped.

There's nothing like doing the base over again.
"Any sand worth moving is worth moving three times, right?"
Rich and Mike laugh. I shovel sand away from the ridges, shortening them and making the slope into the borrow pit steeper.
"Now it looks like the Creature from Too Many Fathoms."
"I can't fathom why you'd say that. It's just too deep for me." And even those truncated ridges don't work so I pick up the shovel. It's time to get serious.

I fill in all the carved pockets and remove all of the ridges. The base becomes the simple broad dome that has worked so well for years. Off to the east I build up a low curving wall to provide an edge. On the west, down the slope of the natural headland, I just smooth out the sand.

"Much better."
"I agree."
"Boy, am I tired. But at least now it works."
"Yah. The only time you've made bases like that work is on free-piled sculptures."
"Something about the scale. Also the sand. It's impossible to get the base sand to really stick to a formed pile. With free-pile it's all the same."
Now the sculpture has support. It's up there and nothing distracts. And it's strong enough not to need all that extra fiddle-faddle. It tells the story all by itself.

6. Winding it Up

A few more brush strokes, a little trimming. "That's it." I make a signature pad and press my hands into it. Whew. It's still standing, it tells the story, and it looks good.
"It's a good one."
"Thanks, Rich."

Afternoon sun floods the beach. Long day. Close to summer, the sun well north over mountains invisible in the vaporous air that blows slowly past.

"An old-fashioned film camera?"
"Yep."
"And I'll bet you're shooting black and white!"
"You got it." It's the 6X7's first outing in a long time. Digital has just about displaced it, but for this purpose only black and white will do. Bert wants prints and I'm old-fashioned. Nothing beats a well-made silver print. I shoot the views I want with the camera on a tripod so my sculptor's palsy won't affect it.

With the critical shots in the can, I get out the digital camera and start making utility shots.
"Mike and I are going to leave now."
"What? The party's just beginning. The band will be here in half an hour."
"We were waiting for the dancing girls."
"Sorry. They had to cancel."
"If we'd known that, we wouldn't have come!"
"Thanks a lot."

I finish my photography and start to come apart. Time to pack up. I'm not in condition for these long summer days. Then I decide to get an insurance roll with the 6X7 with it set for auto exposure, but after I load the film I can't remember how to set up this mode. So I just shoot with it manual spot metering. The light is soft and Steve will be able to correct it in post-production.

Enough. I pack the load, splitting it between cart and trailer because this is easier to haul than having everything on the trailer. I've just started my long walk when the lifeguard drives past.
"I want to get another look."
"Enjoy!" I continue the walk, stopping to rest now and then. There must be a better way. Hired hands, maybe? The LAPD quad whose tracks are giving me such trouble right now?

The lifeguard drives up just as I reach the hard-packed dirt where my bicycle is.
"Man, that's amazing! Don't you work in more permanent materials? It's beautiful!"
"Sand inspires me."
"Well, you've inspired me. Thank you for doing this." He shakes my hand, arm projecting from the truck's window.
"You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it."
He drives away, leaving a warm glow that matches the sun through the evening haze. It only takes me three or four tries to get everything loaded so that it won't fall off.

7. Afterword

Larry! Larry! Larry!
I love that beautiful thing! It's fabulous, it's fantastic! It's
beautiful and wonderful and I can't wait to get the photos up at our
wedding. It will really help to make our day unique and special. I
can't thank you enough.
Thanks so much, Stef

Here's Bert...

Gracias Amigo,

I can see the separate, joining to one.
Thanks again for "Taking the Commission".
Look forward to seeing the photos. (You probably mentioned that we need
to choose size and such in the other Email).

Thanks Again,
Bertrum
--Email from Stephanie and Bert, May 18

It worked. The clients are pleased. I've produced what was necessary.

The result is more angular than the original vision, less subtle. Still, it is musical and balanced. Strong. Proud. I had to overcome rain, wind and bad decisions in order to make it, and change course a couple of times. This is what really makes a professional: coming through with the product no matter what. No excuses, no apologies.

Here there is nothing to apologize for, not even the professionalism. I like the piece; it is only slightly compromised by the necessity to still be standing at the end of the day. It has shapes I've never made before, and is interesting. I really like the long curve on the west balancing the shorter, overhanging parts on the east.

It has strong presence, which I'd say is a good harbinger for the event it celebrates in advance. Bert, Stephanie, make it go.

Written 2003 May 18
Edited May 19, June 1

May 24: 03M-8

2005-05-31T15:52:00.000-07:00

May 25: 03M-9

2005-05-30T15:56:00.000-07:00

May 31: 03F-6, "Knock-off"

2005-05-29T15:57:00.000-07:00

Be sure to read the report that comes after the image. It'll give you some important background on this piece, and information that will help you understand some of the other sculptures.

Summer Long, Summer Symmetric, Summer Stranger

How much of a person's life is spent in getting through things just so he can get to the next thing? "Once I get this done I'll be able to relax and enjoy it." The moment for enjoyment never arrives; work stretches away into the future, a long hot uphill with no shady flat spots to ease the climb.

The shape is elegant. Most art is uncommon, quite deliberately so, but this is a piece that everyone has by the dozen in the refrigerator. Andy Goldsworthy has built them all over the world.

He strains and lifts the heavy stone into place. Up and out the stack builds, layer by stone layer, up and out until it reaches its widest point and then tapers inward. Upward from there, to his height and more. Round seaside cobbles, square quarried radiant Iowa limestone, flat fieldstone flags, sharp-edged shiny black slate. Solid, immersed in the rising tide or hidden by spring grasses. Cattle use them as scratching posts, covering them with coarse ruddy hair.

Simple cairns. Beautiful. His work has always inspired me generally, but now I have a more specific idea. I deal with very tiny stones but they should work for this shape. There is precedent. Can I carry it farther:

Build number: 03F-6 (lifetime start #276) screened low-tide sand on broad riser base
Title: "Shameless" (for Andy Goldsworthy)
Date: May 31
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0645; construction time approx 9.5 hours
Height: 4.5 feet (Tall Form); riser height about 12 inches
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 25 images, Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: 1 roll TMX, 67II w/165mm, on tripod
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, complete; builder photos with my G2
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: none
New Equipment: none (repaired Tall Form)

1. Starting Point

It's hidden just beyond the big fig tree by the museum. Late afternoon light causes a glorious glow that contrasts with the shadowed grey buttress roots of the tree.

In the fall of 1996 Andy Goldsworthy helped me out from under a big load. Every person who came by my sculptures on the beach that autumn threw another rock onto the pile: "How can you stand to work on this all day and not keep it?" Basic brainwashing: repeat something often enough, it becomes truth. Then a friend loaned me one of Goldsworthy's books. Temporary beauty. Ice assembled with spit, glowing with the sunlight that will soon be its undoing. Well, isn't all beauty ephemeral? Art done just to see if it can be done, to find out what it will look like, to find the surprise inside the idea. Nay-sayers are always there, stuck and willing to help get others stuck with them. I choose to go on.

As he speaks, my idea grows. He's fascinated by the idea of the cairn as a waypoint for travellers. His shape is more elegant than the usual mountaintop pile of rocks, and some of them are more interesting than others. Three on a mountain in Europe have elongated spaces in their flat sides, spaces people can sit in for shelter from the weather. He's also fascinated by holes. What can come out of them? What's in there? This echoes the Native American Sipapu, where people first came into this world.

"You could make a sculpture like one of his cairns," my mother says. "Call it 'Homage to Andy Goldsworthy.' Most artists have done something like this." I used to be very determined to do things only my way. I know that one way to learn art is to copy others, but how do you learn anything new this way? The idea, I guess, is to learn the technique and then branch out. Many people never seem to get to the branching out part, and I hate the idea of being a wannabee. I'd rather just quit than have no ideas. It further seems that technique and design develop together; learn someone else's technique and you necessarily assume their design also.

But. It's such a lovely shape. Irresistible. OK, how can I make it mine?

A space, of course. This is how I started: sand wrapped around space. A hole in the cairn. An empty hole, however fascinating it might be for Andy, holds no attraction for me. There needs to be something in there. A ball? Yes. But what about light? How will anyone see it? Light it from the back; put the ball on top of an illuminated slot. Then complete it by cutting a circular hole below the bigger space, as counterpoint. Through the next couple of months the idea grows from that glowing start in the dark auditorium filled with Andy's voice, almost real enough to touch.

A look at the tide book shows that I can add one more refinement to the design: water. Put the sculpture in a basin and the afternoon tide will fill it. Sand and water. Magic reflections.

2. Delays

Southern California offers weather more consistent than most places have. Maybe this is why people get so upset when plans fall through because of some weather problem. By early May, however, the weather is over. The weather service just goes on vacation and the newspapers print the same page every day.

"Rain," Steve says. He works in his photo lab and has the TV on. "You'd better do your sculpture Friday."
"Oh, right. Tell me another funny one, Steve."
"Did you hear about the two blondes. . ."
"Some other time, please. You think it's really going to rain?"
"Yup."
I still don't believe it. Right up until the rain starts Friday afternoon. It's still carrying on at a great rate the next morning and I call various people.
"No sculpture. Rain." It's hard to carve when shivering. "Recycle the count, and we'll go again in a week."

Too much water, too little water. Humans live in a narrow range. Thursday, George and I go for a walk on the beach. The intent had been to do some informal sculpture and photography, but the wind is howling. Sand pelts us as we walk across the beach. The camera stays safely tucked inside my jacket. My glasses are quickly covered with salt.
"I hope it's not like this tomorrow."
"It won't be."
I'm not so sure. Wind like this usually runs for a couple of days.

Saturday comes up with rattling trees. Windy and dry. I'd spend all my time spraying the sculpture and hoping the parts didn't get blown off. I again make use of the telephone.

The next weekend comes with perfect weather. Good. I'm running out of time. Not for the "Goldsworthy Piece," as I've taken to calling it. No, I have to get Stef and Bert's wedding sculpture done in time to send them photographs. This piece turns out well and the schedule is clear. Except for the holiday weekend. No major sculptures on Memorial Day. Quick hits, in the morning so I can away out before the crowds arrive.

3. Hewing to the Line

The first thing that made Andy Goldsworthy's work stand out to me is his care in making. Each part is placed just so, gradations smooth, lines going where they need to in order to fit the design. Craftsmanship. It's beautiful to see., and looks as if it takes great patience. I've learned something about that. Time passes by the person whose hand is involved.

This sculpture will be symmetric. Well, it's supposed to be. Errors in symmetry are easy to spot and pretty well ruin the desired effect, which is why I very seldom try it. The other problem is that a symmetric sculpture is really only half a sculpture. Carve one side and then duplicate it mirror style. I hate copy work. The cairn idea is strong enough to drive me through that resistance, simple enough to perhaps work.

It's a reunion, of sorts. Larry had borrowed my tall form but now that he's had a copy made he returned mine. I took it apart for repairs, new patch technology provided by Sandragon Toolshop Zandraak division. The new patches and slipsheet work as they're supposed to and the pile is quite solid, a tall column of dark low-tide sand with no cracks nor soft spots.

Making the outside shape of the sculpture takes over three hours, including a pause for snacks. Rich walks up as I'm finishing this part, rubbing the curves by hand to feel where the cusps and facets are. Smooth curves are the objective. Not all of Goldsworthy's cairns are precisely symmetric but this is sand. It needs to be balanced over its small base, where I bring the sides inward.

Most sand sculpture is done as a modified cone. Big base, small top. A decorated pile. Some years ago I got tired of the vertical cylinder and decided to go another step. Make the top bigger than the bottom, or at least cut the lower parts inward, and then taper from the wide point to the top. I tried this for the first time in the summer of 1996 and the resulting sculpture, "Faraway," is still one of my favorites, and the tucked-in, "neat" base is a standard design motif. Usually I do it only for part of the sculpture's lowest section.

This one is different. Tucked in all the way around and then smoothed. Then I have to spend more time in making the belt-line at the same level, not higher on one side than it is on the other. It's a slow process of carving, rubbing and then sighting and mentally comparing the curves on one side to those on the other. Human beings seem to be quite sensitive to symmetry and it's no trick to apply the mental mirror so I can see that the curves match.

What is the reward? Mastering a process develops "muscles," which make it easier to do. Mastery and power bring more options: do it this way, do it that way. They all work. Which way brings joy? Sculpture is a process and today there is time to feel each move, to step back and follow it up with a long look. Usually this all happens at a breakneck pace. Today is long. Feel the sand. Take time. Feel it again. Is it where I want it? Is it where it belongs? Being inside the move is as real in sand sculpture as it is in Ron Kauk's rock climbing described in the Patagonia catalog, but it takes a conscious effort to exit the breakneck and enter the pause. It's summer, Larry, ol' Ralph won't ring down the curtain until he's way over there. This is why you're here. It's not just to get though so you can get on to real life.

The holes must be made in the same way. Carve to approximate shape, curve, location and size, then trim carefully while observing very closely how the hole is fitting with the surrounding sand. I want them just right, not too big nor too little. The design has to balance. I'm not used to working this way. Where is the surprise? I'm hearing myself more than I'm hearing the sand. I guess this is what real sculptors do, but it's not why I'm here.

You draw the line and then cut along it. How the piece looks depends upon how well you drew the line and how skilled you are in the cutting. Start small with the holes. They're easy to enlarge if necessary. I've planned other sculptures and they've been miserable failures. Eventually I understood the problem: a failure of visualization. I could picture the rough shape but not the details.

This was only a problem in making things in the outside world. I grew up keeping things inside; that I am able to make sculptures from sand and put my ideas out in the unlimited light of a May morning is an ongoing miracle. It shouldn't happen. It does.

As with any other miracle, one messes with it at one's peril. Which question, which finger in the works will make it stop working? Thus the current rather uneasy compromise between planning and sculpting. Things have, however, changed. The miracle seems to be fairly robust, even surviving, with Goldsworthy's help, those destructive comments. Planning has entered more and more into the process, starting from George's imploring me to orient the sculpture so the important parts catch the light when the sculpture is finished. Not that I always follow his orders; his idea of what's important varies from mine. Take from anyone's suggestions that which seems worth trying, experiment. From George I accepted the idea of, at least, thinking about how the sculpture is illuminated; after all, it is an abstract of light and shadow.

So, I imagined this piece. Set it on my mind's beach and played with the light, then oriented the holes so they'd be where I wanted them. Now I just have to make the shape real, without adding more than the design can carry.

Simplicity has been a goal for a long time, simplicity with elegance and enough complexity to keep the sculpture, and the sculpting process, interesting. I thought this piece would be quick to make and was wondering what I'd do with the rest of the day, but by the time it's finished I'm just as hammered as if I'd removed twice as much sand from it. Symmetry takes work, cutting and rubbing, then looking at the lines, then rubbing some more.

"It looks simple, but it isn't."
"You're right, Rich."

4. Shaping Space

The outside sculpture is as polished as I have the patience to do, and it looks good. The two big holes are roughed in and made symmetric. That's all in accordance with the plan. Now it's time to make it mine.

I delicately enlarge the upper space, dragging the sand out with various tools. I don't really have the right tool for this kind of job. I need a variable-angle loop tool or a vacuum cleaner. The various Steel Phalanges do the job fairly well.

My hands gauge the thickness of the sculpture's shell. Lightness here won't be seen, but it will reduce the load on the small base. With the interior shape carved it's time for the critical, light-admitting connection from west to east. I want this hole to go through just at the top of the opposing space, at the right angle, so the drilling is slow and careful. I want it to be hidden from casual view, light coming through but no obvious hole. I can feel the vibration of drilling, closer, closer, and then breaking out just about where it should have. I'm always amazed by this: each hand knows where the other is.

Widening the new hole is easy. Sand falls through to the north, down the slope. When it's wider it gives me an exit for the waste sand produced from carving the upper space to its final shape, with two ribs to support the ball. I want the ball to appear as if it's floating. This means I need a ball to test it with.

Sand ball making is somewhat of an art. Bigger ones, as this needs to be, are more difficult. I mix up some waste sand with water and swirl the mixture to de-aerate it. Let it settle, then grab a double handful. Hold it so the excess water drains, then turn it over rapidly, back and forth to keep it roughly spherical. Make sure there are no cracks or big unconsolidated lumps. Then spread dry sand over it to take up the remnant free water and I can feel it becoming less plastic. More dry sand, more, rub smooth. Still too wet. More dry sand, hard to find on this overcast day, but eventually I get it stabilized completely and can rub it smooth., knocking off the high spots while I turn it in my hands. It's heavy. Being coated with the dry, lighter colored high-beach sand, it'll show up nicely in there. I hope. I place it inside the space and another piece of the vision is complete.

It's not getting enough light. I take it out and widen the hole below it, then go around to the other side and work on the entry point. I cut the top of the outer hole to a broad curve so that it exposes more of the light tunnel, and then curve the tunnel's entry down a bit. Yes, that's better, but the light is mostly blocked by the ball.

"I need to move this forward a bit, Rich."
He comes over to watch as I recut the ribs so the curve bottoms out farther away from the back wall. Then I put the ball back in.
"That's better." A gentle glow suffuses the space.

Dark space. Dim ball. Now I need a balance point, so I drill through, all the way, from a point below the ball's space to the big space on the other side. This is circular, to match the ball, and it's very bright with light reflected from the beach. The size is good. I go around to the other side to shape the rest of that space to suit.

Round on one end, triangular on this end.
"That's about as explicit as you've gotten."
"You're right." I soften various lines to reduce the suggestion and enlarge the openings.

The key here is to leave enough sand to support the heavy top. There are significant spreading forces acting here that are resisted only by the sand's tensile strength. This depends on cross-section: you have to have enough sand grains hanging onto each other to keep the walls in place or it will explode.

5. Polish

"OK, Rich, that's it. I've tried to get more light on the ball by bringing it forward a bit, and that helps, but it needs more. Maybe I'll try this again."
"As long as you don't make a habit of it." He wants more holes.

The piece is already mostly cleaned up. What's left is detail work, making sure the sides are smooth and the holes cleanly cut. Brushing brings out the laminae, and they stand out in this sculpture's broad expanses of smooth sand. It's elegant.

6. Vision and Labor

"Now I have to make the reflecting pool." I start to shape the domed base and cut its edges down into the borrow pit. The base is big, the pit small. The more sand I move the more seems to need moving. I need a backhoe, or a team of workers. The worst of it is that all the waste sand would have to be hauled away to keep it from interfering with the pool.

I sit in the borrow pit, legs covered with sand, comparing available energy with required work.
"Forget it." I fill in the borrow pit, smooth it over, and round the base to near symmetry.

Days like today are rare. The tide rose, peaked at a low level in the late morning and then fell again. In the afternoon it started rising and this time would not quit until it was two feet deep over the sculpture site. In the in-between time the sand would have been smooth and wet, a perfect surrounding for the sculpture.

I'm about used up, however. The isthmus is crowded and many of the people are just annoying. The sculpture is finished and I don't want to play guard.
"Long time to high tide, Rich."
"At least an hour and a half, it looks like."
"Yah. Bag it. I'm taking my photos."

One of the objectives was to get some nice photos of the water-surrounded sculpture and send the prints to Goldsworthy. He'll have to settle for more ordinary photographs. I set up the big camera to get the images I need before any one of several available louts runs into the sculpture. I've already had three ask if they can knock it over.

I feel some relief when the black-and-white photography is done. Then I pick up the digital and start shooting my utility images.

"Here comes the cavalry."
I look up. Two LAPD SUVs and three or four ATVs are converging on the beach two hundred feet north of me.
"This looks bad." Various groups of people that had been comfortably arranged on the sand are now leaving with alacrity, and I'd join them if I could. I'm thinking of gunfire. There is no shelter here.
"I saw them all headed south not too long ago."
"I wonder what this is about." The policemen approach a man lying on the beach. He offers no resistance as they handcuff him and pull him to his feet for searching. Some of the cops get back in their vehicles and drive north. My studio isn't as nice as it was during the winter.

"That's it. I'd like to wait for the tide, but I'm simply beat. And it's getting cold." Low clouds are forming just offshore and blowing across the beach. I load up, make a tool check and take a last look at the sculpture, and then we turn away and drag the loads to my bicycle.

I'd really like to wait. Water and sand make beauty, and it would add some movement to this very static and tense piece.

7. Questions

In one way it's a triumph. Never have I been able to carry through a sculpture from hazy image to gritty reality that closely matches the image.

Seen from another point of view, however, the thing is a disaster. In executing this, I abandoned the wild approach to design that has produced, yes, its share of clunkers, but has also produced great beauty. I know there are more wild sculptures out there, ones that I just can't visualize, that can only be made by letting go of tight mental images.

It is elegant. It has a self-contained, strong beauty. People tell me it's something they might see in a gallery. Everyone who sees it is impressed.

But it's too damned neat. No loose ends, no surprises. I feel as if I've sold myself out. Have I spent all these years mastering this process just so I can make something that would fit in on someone's knickknack shelf? Is the comment about belonging in a gallery a compliment, or is it an insult? I don't want to be a maker of safe knickknacks.

And yet, there is a surprise or two. The Earth's stately spin slowly changes the light, and the sculpture's broad sides gain terminating shadows that show the profile's very subtle lack of symmetry. Inside the sculpture are dim hints of complexity.

Can I be proud of this sculpture? I guess so, for simply being able to make it, and giving myself the time and care to make it right. Not too long ago I couldn't have done it, couldn't have spent the time the symmetry takes, couldn't have restrained myself from adding to the design.

Maybe Rich was right. "Nice, but I hope you don't do it very often." Is it another kind of visualization failure, in this case making the sculpture simple enough to visualize entirely and thereby losing some of the lively dialog with the sand itself? Where is the sand in this piece? Very well hidden behind a too-smooth facade?

How odd this is. I respect my ability to make this piece but the sculpture itself elicits mixed feelings: contempt, delight. Which is right? I've never made a sculpture that caused such confusion, even the stinkers of 1995. The big question is what's next?

Written 2003 June 1 (very rough)
Edited and completed June 14
Further editing June 15
Rewritten June 20

June 21: 03M-10

2005-05-28T04:46:00.000-07:00

I wasn't quite ready to give up on the free-piled multiple.

July 4: 03P-4

2005-05-27T07:10:00.000-07:00

Now, whatever possessed me to go to the beach on July 4? Must have been up early after being awake too late the night before. If you get to the beach early on a holiday it's not so bad, and it's even better if you walk. It's much nicer to be on the sand than looking for space on a street or bike path.

Lots of little clams in this one. They come and go. Free-pile sculptors just have to take pot luck.

July 6: 03M-11

2005-05-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

I wanted to try the free-pile multiple idea again, even if the boundary between straight free-pile sculpture and the multiple expression was becoming blurry. Another early start, on the beach at 0700 and finished by 1100, as the last-hurrah July 4 weekend crowd started to arrive.

July 19: 03P-5

2005-05-25T07:21:00.000-07:00

Now, here's a real paradigm-buster. Looking at this, a P sculpture, and comparing it with its M predecessors, you're quite forgiven if you can't tell the difference. Neither could I, which is why I now have removed the artificial distinction. Free-piled sculptures are free-piled, no matter how many piles are involved.

August 1: 03F-7

2005-05-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

I didn't know it at the time, but this would be the last formed sculpture for the year. The reason had to do with the man I met while doing 03F-5, in May, the one who was in Los Angeles for the church conference. I was about three months away from a singularity I couldn't see beyond, and about a month away from an event so cataclysmic that it still rings in my soul, and I hope it ever does.

The construction image is by Richard Johnson. For more details, read the report that follows the images.

Cold Restart

We last left our intrepid sand sculptor wondering what would come next. He'd just finished a very simple and elegant sculpture.

That thing was almost the end of the story. Just plumb killed the spirit. Yah, it was well done, and even beautiful, but much too organized. Like opening your closet and finding someone else's clothes in there, things you'd never even considered wearing.

Well, it turns out the sculpting spirit is pretty darned tough. After a month or so of wondering if he'd ever sculpt again, the desire started coming back. Maybe it was encouraged by a succession of free-piled sculptures whose major claim to memory space was all those damned shells in there.

Maybe it was just so he could carve sand instead of rocks.
"Wayne, I need to take Friday off. Emergency sand sculpture. Only gluttons for punishment do all-day sculptures on summer weekends."
Maybe it was Michael Nedell's Email: "Rock the beach!"

Build number: 03F-7 (lifetime start #279) screened low-tide sand on low base
Title: "Renaissance: Inside the Music"
Date: August 1
Location: Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start: 0630; construction time 11 hours
Height: 4.5 feet (Tall Form)
Base: 1.75 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: 61 images, Canon Powershot G2 (includes Rich's)
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, w/Canon Z115, complete; builder photos with my G2
Video motion: none (camcorder not brought)
Video still: none
Video volunteer: Construction and completion, by Larry, 34 min w/Elura
New Equipment: various "Hooktail" modified small spatulas; rebuilt Quick Filter

1. What Do You Do When the Past is Better than the Future?

The past may be great, but it's no reason to get out of bed today. Sometimes it seems as if I hit my high point of sculpture in 1996 and have been in retrograde mode ever since. Oh, the tools have developed, and the sculptures have become more complex, but what happened to beauty?

Sometimes there'd be hints. Still, it seemed that 96F-14, "Dance," would forever be the high point. Either I was incompetent or sculpture was harder to learn than I thought. Take your pick.

Still, the day is nice, the cooling breeze is running, and I still enjoy the sharp bite of a well-made tool into a well-made block of screened sand. There is aesthetic pleasure in that simple cut.

If I could stand practice I'd be a musician. I can't, so I'm a sand sculptor who cultivates a short memory for failures. There's always that dream out there ahead, the perfect sculpture that will be so good it will shatter, rend from end to end, anyone who sees it, transporting them instantly to some land so far beyond our cheap reality that we can't even conceive of it.

Music. Some come close. Recently reissued CDs by Renaissance finally present to a 30-year-later audience the soaring vocals and complex unique arrangements. After a day of work I put on the headphones and transport myself to their world. The song, however, always ends and I'm back in my own bed, in this sad world.

Past, future, now. Time. The tide is low, summertime and a long day. Instead of listening to someone else's music, go make your own. Go. Quit thinking about it. That perfect sculpture will never be made in the bedroom.

2. Dive In

Sometimes I have to struggle for sand. It'll be in a thin layer on top that I have to cream-skim. Or it will be under several inches of coarse overburden. Sometimes I have to race the tide for it. Today, however, it's out here by the cubic yard. Just push the shovel in and pick it up. A thousand sand sculptors could work today without using it up. All I need is 17 bucketfuls or so, hardly making a dent in the broad expanse of dark smooth sand.

A low bank of cloud has been hovering offshore, slowly moving eastward. Lazily it makes landfall and the temperature drops a few degrees; the light becomes soft and the sand glows. August in southern California. It could have been blazing warm by now, with hard brassy light. I look at the clouds as a favor. Other sheets of vapor are climbing the mountains, blowing languidly over the ridges and dissipating in the warmer inland air. The coast is finely balanced.

One of the day's objectives is to test the recently rebuilt Quick Filter. Originally 18th-inch hardware cloth over a PVC pipe frame, it how has two sides filled in with sheet plastic in an attempt to control poured-in water better. The other two sides, and the bottom, are covered with hardware cloth; it's intended as a backup for my other screen. Unlike some recent "improvements" this one basically works, but still not as well as the Rectacreenus. Big problem is that the plastic sides make it too slippery to hold onto when the form is nearly full and the screen's handle is too high to reach.

I fill the form to the very top. It's good sand. I only get sand like this once or twice a year.

Now, which of the sculptural ideas will I make? Larry Dudock came ambling along, surprising me. He had to take a day off from work.
"I wanted to get video of you making a sculpture from start to finish. I don't have any recent ones."
All right, he wants to see how a symmetric sculpture is made, so I'll start there. But I want some internal workings, connections from side to side so there'll be something interesting inside this cairn.

The symmetric carving goes a bit more quickly this time. I'm more experienced, and I also know that for this sculpture, whose sides will be well perforated, absolute symmetry won't matter so much.

Once that's done, the rest of the world disappears. I'm gone, into the sculpture, solving problems.

The standout tool of the day turns out to be any of the various small spatulas I bought and then modified by bending their tips up into a "hooktail" shape. Sort of like very small loop tools that can be easily maneuvered into small places. The advantage of the curved-back tip is that the sand is removed as it's cut, unlike the straight spatulas I've used for years. It's amazing how much of a difference this makes.

I first tested these tools on last weekend's free-pile but they weren't effective because of all the shells. Tiny tools too easily stop when they run into shell fragments. Here, in well packed and screened sand, the tools shine and I use them a lot, the various sizes working in different places. Microsculpture just became easy, and true microsculpture, the tabletop variety, might be a worthwhile experiment now.

My first offset-handle small tool like this was home-made. I call it the Pointer, and it was intended to undercut overlapping panels to give the edge more definition. It didn't work; yes, it would cut a line, but the line was all it cut. The sand just stayed there. I learned to use other tools for its intended task, and the Pointer is rarely used. I thought about bending its tip upward but never got around to it. It was different with the spatulas. Bought for $3 apiece I don't much care if an experiment fails. Bend this way, bend that way, try another. It's a new class of tool and only experimentation will show me what works best.

They're good for starting a cut, for defining a new edge, for undercutting an existing piece, for light trimming and they even work as tiny scorps. Better than a straight knife for starting lines because they remove the cut sand. Great. I love it when things work. There are so many ways to fail, and so few in which to succeed.

I merrily go on my way, cutting here and there, and Rich and Larry start talking about devotion to complexity. This happened the last time I got new small tools.

3. Many Voices, One Song

The difference is that this time it works. I've done a lot of sculptures since those ugly 1997 and 1998 jobs. Gradually I've learned. In this case the new tools are a big help because they go beyond just making an edge. They make space. Small spaces that can be expanded, but they're fine enough to get into the pile and make multiple layers of free-standing arches.

Some part of me has learned to handle complexity. Yes, the sculpture is complex, but it looks of a piece. It's balanced. I'm surprised it's still here.

"Why do you suppose it's still standing?"
"Pixie dust. The sculpture stands as long as it's there." I don't really know, so you might as well call it magic. "It's like the magic smoke in electronic components; once you let the smoke out the gadget works no longer."

Surf crashes against the breakwater. The lifeguard drives down for the umpteenth time to tell people to come down before they're knocked down. Sheets of water reach higher on the gently curving sand, coming within ten feet or so. That means I built too high, carried water too far.

The CD playing in my mind is Renaissance, "Captive Heart." Voice so practiced that the song flows and she adds little trills here and there. It has certainly captured me. I listen to the song and wish I could crawl inside it. What a wondrous world there must be inside a lovely song. I'd like to make the sculptural equivalent of a song. Sometimes I talk about a particular sculpture singing, or ringing like a bell, but these events have become rare. Maybe I know too much now, plan too much, with no room for happy melodious accidents.

There's more to Renaissance than Annie Haslam's clean voice. Not all of their songs work but the ones that do combine elements that would be interesting alone into one whole piece with sublime skill. I don't know how they do it. A sculpture is made of several elements and the more there are the more difficult it is to make all the parts contribute. One ugly bit can overpower its more beautiful neighbors, and the combination might be even worse. There are many ways to fail.

Today there is power in me. I just keep going. If a part doesn't look right I change it, fit it, work on it until the shape is good. I'm helped by the year's best pile of sand, achieved despite more problems with the form. The slipsheet leaked--very bad quality tarp--and then just came unstuck. That latter is the first failure I've had with MS Polymer; it doesn't like the tarp material.

Balance comes from elements that go with each other. The size, the scale, the shape, the contrast. Space and sand, light and shadow, these four simple ingredients in every sculpture. A sculpture with this many parts can't be modelled in my mind but somehow it's going together.

4. Dancing with Sand

Maybe it's the music. Maybe it's the two months since the last formed sculpture. The new tools certainly have a role in this particular dance.

Sculptures come and go. Some are memorable, others are just main-sequence types that go into building skills. In 1996 the state of the art was "Dance," and it's still one of the most beautiful, simply beautiful, sculptures I've ever made. Simple, yes, but graceful as it flung its limbs of sand upward.

Simplicity is good. Complexity is fun and challenging. Guess which way I go most of the time. Now the two are coming together: a complex sculpture that looks simpler than it really is.

It was intended to be much simpler, with two or three internal thin ribs from one side to the other, inside a braided dome. The braid idea took over and the surface became more complex, but I still had room to carve the internal ribs, using the new small hooktail tools. I could have done more but I've learned. No more carving parts just because I can. They have to fit.

And finally I get the signature sand out of its bucket, make a pad, and press my outspread hands into it. Eleven hours. I roll over onto my back.
"Take him home and put him away. He's done."
"Portrait of the Artist as Finished." Rich gets his photograph.
I think about moving. Nah. Too much trouble.

5. Fade to Black

My captive heart has been released. The sculpture is finished. Well, not really; there's always more to do but I'd just be making mistakes. Call it finished.

I get my completion photos. This is more difficult than expected, pain attending every movement. Finally I just drag myself around without standing up. Until a leg cramps, and then I have to stand. OK. Either standing or sitting. Choose one. I finish the photography and then sit down on the sand because my back just won't take any more.

"You have a lot more light left."
"I know. I'd love to wait for the sun. See, as it sets, it'll get into that slot and light up those lower spaces." The ones that turned into a four-way surprise; I thought I was connecting two holes on the east, but wound up breaking through to the south and west also. So I made this look like part of the design, but it still needs light.

Well, the light will be there but I won't. "Yah, I'd love to wait, but I'm done." Home. Food. Shower. Bed.

Rich and I haul my kit away. I'm absolutely thrashed but my mind is still going full-tilt. What's left of it anyway. It was a good piece.

6. Further Considerations of the Fallibility of Sculptors

I was afraid that 03M-6, the "Goldsworthy Piece," was the state of the art. It received more positive responses than most of my sculptures, and to me popularity is the death knell. Especially when it wasn't really mine.

Ah, don't be so morbid. Of course it was yours. No one else on the planet has done anything like that in sand. So you borrowed the idea; other artists do this regularly.

No, the real problem is that my reaction to that piece almost put the fire out. If that was the state of the art, then what of the sculptures whose making I enjoy more, the complex ones, the unplanned ones, the surprises? I just didn't know what I should think about it.

Thus the plan to sit out the summer, making free piles in the morning. The dark cloud from 03F-6 covered those as well, aided by sand full of shells that made fine work impossible. Nothing I did was any good. Well, the desire came back, if only in the form of wanting to carve fine smooth sand.

Sunday morning. I have something like a brain, but it's no fireball. I open the door into the new dawn and am greeted with the clatter of the tool Larry borrowed hitting the floor. Hmmm. If he did a sculpture, I thought he'd call. If he was out here and didn't do a sculpture, that would be unusual. Well, I'll just walk down there and find out.

The evidence is inconclusive: some of the cache still there, no extra sand on the stump of my sculpture, but no sign of anything he might have made. A mystery my befogged brain is unable to decode. I walk back home, skipping rocks and trying to go fairly straight.

"Well, how are you, Lump? This is Uncle Larry."
As if he needed to tell me; his voice is unique. "Good morning. What's going on?"
"Yesterday's sculpture was mixed."
"I walked down there. Nothing left. What did you do?"
"A fairly short sculpture. It never quite came together, and I also didn't finish. I got a late start."

His voice sounds dejected. "You must not have been very pleased with it."
"Not really. I wanted something, but it didn't happen. What do you do when you don't quite feel like going to the beach, but think you should?"
"I just go. Even if there's not much of a plan. As other sand sculptors have said, 'A bad day on the beach is better than a good day anywhere else,' and that's pretty much the way I feel."
"How many of your sculptures disappoint you? I've only done two or three this year that I'm pleased with."
"Most of them. I'd say maybe one in twenty really work out and make me proud. The rest just sort of contribute to my skills. Practice, but it doesn't feel that way. I like the process. I know that's different from you; you're interested in the result."
"Yeah."

What lights your fire? What keeps it burning? I don't really know, and it's something I don't examine too closely, fearing to put it out. Sand sculpture is an all-in-one, do it now, full honk into unknown territory. Do your best, put everything out there, design and engineering on the instant. A chance to be creative, a chance to do one thing that's off the ballistic trajectory established at my birth and continues in my participation in the day-to-day world. Magic. I get to touch magic along with the sand. Who can explain it? All I know is that I need it. And I wonder how to communicate that to Larry. He has the idea, the technology, but where's the fire? Has he uncovered it? Does he know how to feed his fire? He knows how I feed mine; his is most certainly different. The lesson is a meta-lesson: not so much how to do sand sculpture but beyond that to how to find the fire and feed it. Everyone should have the chance to do so, I think.

7. Questions

"As I read the report," Maurice says (I'd forgotten I sent it to him), "the main thing that came through was how much work making a sculpture is. You write about moving the sand and packing it."
At this my thought is that I've changed the style of the reports. I used to go into some detail about how the sculpture was carved, what ideas were behind the elements, but I've stopped doing that because it seemed empty.
"And you go on about some of the design and the struggles you're having with that. It feels like work to me. Work to pack, work to design."
Further thought shows me that the direction he's taking is different from what I at first thought, and it's very close to the way some of my own thinking has been running.

What happened to the joy? The magic of making?

"I was just wondering if perhaps you need to change media for a time. Maybe the form is limiting you. The free-pile sculptures you've sent me in pictures look wilder, more fun, looser."
"Compromises. Free-pile is just that, but it's hard to get any detail with the shells. Formed sculptures are an aesthetic delight to carve, the sand feels good, but I'm stuck with the shape of the form."
"Maybe you need to do switch. Chalk, or something else. I remember the effect our early chalk drawing had on your sculpture."
"And still does. There was some of that in Friday's piece. I was really sorry when it got too hot so fast the last time I was up there."
"So was I. I'm not taking the engineer test this year, so the fall will have some open weekends."

Now, when two different people raise similar questions, and both raise strong resonances within me, maybe it's time to take it seriously. But that's the problem: too much seriousness.

"By the time you've spent all that time on making that block of sand, you're tired. You don't want the whole thing to come down. Maybe that's limiting you. Keeping you from expressing what you want to."

If I knew what I wanted to express. In all of my increased skills and improved tools, the sculptures' source is still a mystery. What is it I want to express?

I've always just left that to the sculpture. I just make 'em, ma'am, and don't ask me what's in it. There used to be more of an echo in the sculpture, echoes of what I was feeling, thinking about, or things floating around in my mind.

"I've become more dedicated to design, over the last few years." Yah, maybe too serious.
"Too much, perhaps? I hope I haven't asked any questions that went too far."
"No."

Actually, the notion of self-expression is foreign to me. It wasn't allowed when I was a child--children should be neither seen nor heard--and nothing has really changed since then although I've found ways around the prohibition. Mainly this involves not thinking about it, and that's one skill I've honed and buffed until it works so smoothly I don't even notice it. Go to the beach, make a pile, carve it. Leap across that abyss of feeling, of expression, somehow the skill zips through the gap without pausing and makes a sculpture.

And the sculpture usually, these days anyway, disappoints me. The one thing I feel. This is safe: the sculpture doesn't come close to the the mythical one that guides my hand; it's as if I were trying to touch some grail through mists of time or space. I can feel something of the outline, get hints, but it always shatters on being exposed to the air of my real world. As my skills have improved my disappointment has grown: I should be able to do this.

Well, maybe you need to recycle the count. Maybe you really need to figure out what you're doing out there, or feel it. I've certainly felt the lack of feeling lately. But life is surprisingly easy to live without feelings. Like a tunnel through the unregarded days I go to work, come home, back and forth. Wonder could hit me in the face and I'd never notice in my insensitive fog.

I'm just not very good at marathons. Sprint, yes, I can do that. But long-term life, that's different. Thirteen years until retirement. Will there be enough left of me then to make a relight possible?

Written 2003 August 2, 3
Part 6 added August 4 (rough)
Part 7 added August 5 (even rougher)

August 16: 03P-6

2005-05-23T07:35:00.000-07:00

I flew to Denver to stay with my sister while our aunt planned a surprise party for our mother's 80th birthday. I was in the nosebleed section of the airplane and every germ in there congregated in my seat with a beautiful view of the side of an engine. I was sicker than a dog within three days, but my sister had other plans. "The show must go on," she said.
"What show?"
"The skit we--you and I and Nancy--are doing at the party."
"Better forget about me. My voice is going."
Her response? No mercy. Just more pills.

The show did go on, but I took a break from the chaos of planning and went for a walk in my old childhood rambling area along Glacier Creek. Back then I wasn't a sand sculptor. I still remembered the sand bars I found along the creek, but now I see sand differently.

I even got rained on, the ultimate blessing to one whose most recent memories are of southern California in August.

The party was a howling success. My mother was completely speechless--an almost unheard-of state--when her friends and family came trouping around the cabin corner to the tune of my sister's bagpipes. It was great, even if I did feel as if a hot poker was in my throat all the time.