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95F-6 "Can't You Tell?" | ||
| The sand is more akin to gravel than anything I'm used to, and is full of seaweed. Feeling terribly misled, I stand on Santa Cruz Beach and think about abandoning the effort, but we've driven all day to get here. The camping's arranged, and that should be fun. Rocket and I pile back into the car, get some ice cream on this hot September day, and drive to the campground. Tomorrow I make my first contest sculpture. |
| Build number: | 95F-6 (lifetime start #60) |
| Title: | "Can't You Tell?" |
| Date: | September 30 |
| Location: | Santa Cruz beach, lifeguard tower 3 |
| Start: | 0830; building time: 5.5 hours |
| Height: | 5.2 feet (two stage) |
| Base: | 3 feet, second stage 1.6 feet, cylindric |
| Photography: |
five rolls Verichrome Pan 120 |
| Story: | "Many Hands" |
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I sent JuLee a photo of a sculpture when she expressed interest. She showed the print to Bert when she helped him build a sculpture in San Jose advertising the Santa Cruz contest. He called me to talk about various things and a month later I was on my way to my first contest.
Everything simply fell into place. Myrt had the accomodations planned. Bert set up the contest so a solo could win, allowing as much time as the builder could pack in between midnight and 1400, and help with building the pile. He adjured the judges to exclude size as a criterion. Having seen the sand, I cancelled the early start. It wasn't justified. By the time we got started five hours remained. Sand wasn't the only problem; heavy surf kept picking my water pump's intake. JuLee stood on it, freezing her legs in the pounding water full of seaweed. I pumped water into the form while Rocket added sand. After he'd thrown in a few shovelfuls, he'd take over the pump while I mixed and packed. There wasn't time to fill the main form to its 54-inch top, so we quit at about three feet and added the extension. Virginia and I made this just for the contest. My old extension was only about 15 inches across, and gave the sculptures a pencil-top look I didn't like. I hoped the larger diameter of this one would give me more room. Little did I know at the time just how effective it would be. We filled the extension in good time, with me standing atop the sand in the main form and Rocket handing up buckets of water and sand. With the pile made, I ran to the ocean and surfed in what felt like salad. Then I ran back, ready to carve. The problems didn't end with the pile's completion; now, I had to get the forms off. The extension was held together with zippers, and they were nearly impossible to unzip because of the load of sand. Using pliers I got them open. The main form was easier. Rocket took the forms away and turned me loose. The rest of the world disappeared. I'd had ideas, but they were set aside because of the sand. Sharp detail wouldn't hold with this stuff, and delicate arches were out. I carved the top section into a looping double arch, one leg of which swept down and back, then dropped sheer to the beach. Around the other side, I carved some little pockets and ridges for mass hiding. Some were deeper than others. In one I ran into a piece of seaweed that tore out a chunk, but I was able to repair this. Farther around I carved long square ridges that tapered upward until they joined the top, where they turned vertical and wrapped around the arch. There were lots of people on the beach. The event had been advertised and the weather was hot. The beach around the sculptures was nearly standing room only. Many busy teams worked on sculptures on both sides of me, all of them larger than mine. Still, many of the passersby said they didn't know who would win, but I deserved to. One of them asked what it was and Myrt responded with "Can't you tell?" I broke out laughing and the sculpture had a name. Rocket was the timekeeper, making a nonchalant call every hour or so. I was in a frenzy trying to get everything cleaned up. Polishing sand with seaweed in it is very difficult. As the whistle sounded, I got the last part done. By this time we had the tide to think about as it was pushing water up to the sculpture's base. It was just high enough on the beach. As I photographed the sculpture, judges came around and asked me about it. I told them about my ideas and history. There were five, each taking notes. I kept photographing. Bert had advertised a wrecking time. The beach authorities didn't want anything standing at the end of the day. Rather than let the local twerps bash mine, I knocked it over myself. As I was reducing the ruins with my shovel, JuLee called out that the results were being announced. Bert, on the stage, started with the special prizes: best architecture, best design, best solo. I didn't get any of those, so I figured I was out of the running. I started daydreaming under the hot sky. Best group, best promotional, and so on. Then he got to the top three prizes. Third, second, and then he got this funny look on his face. He'd told me it was possible, but didn't expect a non-representational solo to win first prize. He told me to collect my check and I sort of floated over there after JuLee and I hugged each other. Imagine that: winning my first contest. I finished reducing the ruins, in a very strange state of mind that continued for the next few days. Here was evidence, so strong that even I couldn't ignore it, that people really were interested in my sculpture. I don't know about the cosmic significance of this event, but winning the contest changed the way I approach and feel about sand sculpture. I'd always done it as a sort of semi-secret vice, a way for an antisocial misfit to engage in art without hurting anyone else. That idea no longer fit. Actually, it hadn't for a long time but I ignored most of the signs. The prize I couldn't ignore. The way I work didn't change. Nor did my experimental approach. What did change was my feelings; now I had some pride in what I did, and could face passersby who made derogatory comments--not many, but some--and they wouldn't affect me at all. We drove back to the campground with me in a daze, and had a celebratory beer and dinner. I swam in the cove below, feeling the sand in wonder. We headed south the next day, along the hot valley and over the hill to Los Angeles. Amazing. | ||||||||||
I won! | ||||||||||
JuLee and Rocket, able helpers | ||||||||||
JuLee, Myrt, Rocket, Larry | ||||||||||
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Original: 98-Sep-7 (direct to HTML)
All contents copyright 1998 by
Larry Nelson | ||||||||||
95f06rpt.htm 99 February 14