I don't understand competition. It's supposed to drive people to produce their best work, and in some fields that may happen. In art, I think competition is unreasonable even though it has become the accepted way for artists to make themselves known. Think about this for a minute. You're at a contest, where there are sculptures of a whale, a fantasy city, a fairy tale scene, and an abstract piece. All are done well, and you're supposed to choose which one is best. How do you do it? It's fairly easy to pick the better sports team, or the fastest runner, but art is subjective and interactive. The piece that speaks to you might not speak to anyone else, and might not be as well done, technically, as another. At one contest, I liked and respected four sculptures. None of them won a prize. It seems to me that competition works against creativity by leading the competitors to chase the moving rabbit of the judges' opinions. If the desire is to win, the works will be similar. I don't like that. Another problem is that contests tend to encourage size over every other factor. Judges have a tendency to overlook small works, but one of the best sculptures I've ever seen was only about a foot long, and a few inches tall. It was exquisite, full of expression, but it would have bombed in a contest. Even with all that, I will continue to compete. Perhaps it's because a contest changed my approach to sand sculpture. Winning the 1995 Santa Cruz contest was undeniable evidence that people really did like my sculptures. Not just a few; a steady stream of passersby commented "I don't know who will win, but you should!" After that, how could I go on ignoring the audience? That has led in strange directions, ending with this Web site. Maybe I'll never win another, but I don't care that much. Competitions are very good for one thing: exposure. Lots of people come to them, sand sculptors and spectators, and now I'm enough of a ham to enjoy the attention. A contest is a great showcase. A contest can also be great fun. Most of the world doesn't understand temporary art, but in a contest I'm surrounded by people who not only understand it, but enjoy it. Sand brings out some interesting people, and in most contests there's time to meet and share photographs and stories. I find it encouraging and refreshing. So, I'll go to more contests, make the best sculptures I can (as usual), have some fun with other sculptors, and forget the judges. In a way, I'm in a continuing contest with myself. I want to make a better sculpture every time, but the idea of what's "better" is always moving. Each sculpture is a snapshot of a moment balanced between engineering, desire, skill and many smaller influences. It all adds up to singing: if I can hear the sculpture, it was a good one. This is without regard to what anyone else thinks, but usually the sculptures that sing to me also sing to others. In a world where art is supposed to be distant and inscrutable, I find this fact very interesting. FAQ | How I Do It | Doing It Yourself | About Tools | About Sand Library Human Touch Museum

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