99F-5 "A Sense of Wonder"

Waltzes get little respect. "War-horses," throwaways, music to use as filler. But there are waltzes, and waltzes. What Sousa did for the march, Johann Strauss the younger did for the waltz, and the music, performed by people who obviously love what they're playing, on repeated listenings reveals details and fillips that reward the effort. As "Vienna Woods" rolls through my ears ideas for sand sculpture follow. Flowing, billowing shapes, interesting little details and grace notes.

Build number:	99F-5 (lifetime start #161)
Title:	"A Sense of Wonder"
Date:	June 5
Location:	Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start:	0845; building time 9 hours
Height:	4.3 feet
Base:	1.75 feet (cylindric)
Photography:	partial roll plus full, RA w/XA2; approx 13 min. video w/XL1

Everyone says it will rain. "I'm doing a sand sculpture Saturday. Come on out!" "Even in the rain?" "You know it's going to rain?" "The weather will be lousy." "Rain or shine." They should remember: I've been to Harrison Hot Springs. Anything southern California offers is lightweight. Predictions hold about as much truth as arguments about religion. We'll only know when we get there. The day itself comes up with some low clouds and a promise of sunshine. Rats. It'll be the classic early June SPF50 day. Sand is the day's best news, a nice thick deposit of good material lying along the storm drain. I'll be able to build on the flat, a nice level stage that makes for good photography and videography. A cool breeze helps with the hard work of carrying and packing. By the time the form is full the breeze is brisk, bringing in occasional fine spray from big breakers hammering the breakwater. Sorry, Larry, you'll have to get the carving detail tape from another day; my glasses are already covered with salt. The sculpture in my mind has three (Why three? Well, two is too few and four is too square and five is probably too many.) independent elements growing from a billowing base. It's to be called "Waltz." The three "pods" will lean on and form themselves to each other. This is well in mind. What's not so well imagined is how they'll fit into the base, and how that basal section will work with the engineering. So, start with the easy stuff and figure out the rest on the fly. Bold strokes trim the top back to what I think will work. Having just spent nearly three hours packing this sand I'm loath to cut any of it away, and this produces a common problem that becomes apparent as I work down: the top is too big. The basal design needs some room to flow and now it will have to come nearly straight up. Reponse: abandon the original plan. As the pods emerge I start to get excited. Their upper ends look good, as if they belong instead of just ending here. The central one, looking at the north side, is shorter and the flanking elements curve over its top, meeing in a delicate touch. They turn into hybrid pod-panels due to design and engineering constraints on the south side. Here's something else to work on next time, but the current experiment of working on each element until it shines has worked well. Waves boom against the rocks. Every once in a while a big set comes in, sending spray flying. The rising tide is just about high enough to start the boufadora when some people start photographing near it. The cameraman poses them on a rock. A big wave is coming in. I hope they don't mind... well, too late. They're wet now, water shooting 15 feet up through the blowhole and spreading in a heavy salt rain. The crowd is a mix of winter's regulars and summer's wandering wannabe beach people. Kids try to look like tough adults. Adults try to act like youths. They come and go, with some stopping to talk. Richard and Linda and I talk about the vagaries of video. Steve, met in October as I was working on a free-pile sculpture, comes by for his first repeat visit. We talk about Mirjam, his friend in Holland who designs museum displays and is a delightful Email correspondent. Ken demonstrates his digital camera, shooting an in-process builder photo which he will Email to me. Jim, on duty, comes by to tell me that vagrants aren't allowed on the beach. "I'm not a vagrant, I'm a sand sculptor. By the way, Jim, if vagrants aren't allowed, what are you doing here?" "I'm not a vagrant. I'm a ne'er-do-well." Below the eastern pod's concave conclusion I cut deeply with the Sand Knife. For this kind of work it's the best tool I have. The sculpture is beginning to cook and I tune out the crowd, giving short answers if any. One group gets my attention by belaboring the question "What would you do if she knocked it over?" Once or twice I can ignore, but they keep after it and finally I give them one barrel. "Why even think about this? Only half-dead people even consider it." They leave. A swirling leg takes shape, terminating in the back of the eastern pod. Spaces take shape between that leg and the western pod assembly, with more openings to the north for definition around the central pod. Now it's half a scupture: good upper works but the base is still indeterminate. I've had a problem in the last several sculptures: the good part stops about halfway down. I want this one to be good all the way to the ground, so I concentrate and work on shaping the sand. Fatigue gathers, but this sculpture is generating energy that keeps me going. Force Primeval Bars and chocolate chip brownie cookies help. Also helpful is the lack of video production. There are enough interruptions down here; I didn't realize how much of a distraction making video was on the last sculpture until working uninterrupted on this one. So the western leg comes down and wraps around eastward. The swirling eastern leg tucks into this, making a nice curve against the other sand. A deep concave ends the swirling leg, and I cut through upward into the central space. This leaves the northwest section. I've not been able to figure out what to do here. "When in doubt, dissemble." "Yes. I've been wondering about that for some time." Rich is a good observer; not much gets past him. Now there's no excuse. I rework the central pod to make it more like a fox's ear than a mother-in-law's tongue, define its surrounding spaces better, then cut around the elbow of its meeting with the point of the swirling leg. The smooth curve contrasts with the point. I'm losing the concentration. It has been a long day. I cut through the planned hole into the lower center, then work on defining some other smaller elements that don't really work but I can't think of anything better. It's time to call it finished. There's much clean-up to do. Definition here, finishing a space here, smoothing out lumps and bumps, fitting elements more elegantly. I wonder what's holding it up; there are serious overhangs everywhere over the cut-away base. Well, it's good sand and maybe I've been living a clean enough life. Still, I'm afraid to touch it, but it holds against wind, helicopters and delicate touch of brush and fingers and fine toolwork. "It's a turning point for you." "I think so, Rich. I think this is something I've been trying to make for a year or more." I spent a lot of time shaping each element, feeling it and envisioning how to best fit it with its neighbors. The result stands tall. Interesting elements combine in interesting ways around interesting spaces. I sign it and fall over, panting. Only nine hours, but they were intense. Photography will get no help from the elements. Long shadows cross the sand, sharply delineated behind passersby. I'm pretty well fogged out and glad the camera is automatic. Larry Dudock sent me a videotape with some footage of two sculptures I'd seen in complete sequences of stills that I thought showed the sculptures well enough. I was wrong. The video walkaround shows much better how the sculpture is made and how its parts fit. So, I shoot a walkaround of this one, then some details, then another walkaround going the other way. Intense sunlight gets into the lens on the northwestward shots both directly from the sun and off the water. Nothing to do but wait until sunset. Rich has his jacket on and I'm beginning to shiver. The light turns golden-red as the sun touches Saddle Peak's western flank. I get a few atmosphere photos. As if someone hit the switch, the light turns grey; there are no clouds to extend evening's glow. I shoot the last video walkaround, feeling the camera get damp. The air cools surprisingly quickly and it drops its load of invisible seawater anywhere it's encouraged. "I'm about to leave." "I'm right behind you, Rich." Actually, he's right behind me, helping get the bike to the path after I stumble around packing up. Clanking and rattling I work my way north through the gathering gloom with the sculpture shining brightly in my memory. It wasn't "Waltz" but it's the best dancer I've made in some time. I've been looking at images of old sculptures, from 1984 and 1985, and they've brought to mind the wonder I used to feel each time one of these surprises sprang from my fingers. Pure innocent delight. That doesn't happen much now. I seem to be too caught up in design and the fun of making has receded. This one was fun, awakening echoes of 1984.

Technical Note: The in-process builder image was shot by Ken Frehm with an Olympus D400Z digital camera. It's the first digital camera image I've ever used on this Web site because it's the first I've seen that's good enough. It required some image editing, mainly to increase the color saturation. The original is a little flat. Still, it has good shadow and highlight detail, comparable to a modern reversal film. I'm quite amazed.

Top of Page Library Human Touch Museum 1999 Sculptures 1998 1997 1996 1995 All contents copyright 1999 by Larry Nelson lord_chaos@compuserve.com Builder image by Ken Frehm Written 99 June 6 HTML conversion June 13

99f05rpt.htm 99 June 13