99F-17 "Too Much and Not Enough"

The future exists as kernels of events held in supercooled suspension. It waits, amorphous, ready. The day begins in gloom and stays that way. My awareness ends at the walls until the call comes, and then it expands to include sand and fog. Instantly the future crystallizes, predictability running like lightning through the fog of potential events. I'll bet the makers of the Venice Pier foghorn never thought it would be attracting anyone.

Build number:	99F-17 (lifetime start #173)
Title:	"Too Much and Not Enough"
Date:	October 22
Location:	Venice Breakwater, south side
Start:	0930; building time: 7.5 hours
Height:	4 feet
Base:	1.75 feet, cylindric
Photography:	one roll RA135-24 w/LX and 85mm

1. Calm Cool, damp air rushes past as I blast down the grade to the bagel shop. All I had at home was apples. Somehow I miss the place; the usual activity is missing. Then the truth hits: the bagel shop is missing, closed permanently. This could be a hungry day. Pearly light suffuses the beach. The fog doesn't reach far inland or go very high, and the sun is nicely softened. It's quiet down here. The Breakwater isn't so quiet. The diggers and pumpers are still on the job but this time there's some reasonably good sand available even with the tide still being high. I set up, amusing the beach cleanup crew. 2. Teasing A hint of the sea's breath keeps me cool as I build the pile. This one's being filtered; I'm starting earlier than planned so there's time for better packing. I could get used to this. Rather than carrying sand I'm using the native stuff right at the pile's base. Just shovel it into the filter and put that into the form. It removes lots of grass but other than that the sand is clean. 3. Offshore A sudden wind from the northeast blows hair into my face. This isn't good news; if it keeps up the sculpture will dry out faster than I can spray water onto it. There's nothing to do but keep piling, and hope. "What are you doing?" "Sand sculpture." I have my eye on some low-tide sand so it won't hurt to chat for a while. "I'm making the pile now." We talk of England, global warming, stone carving, vacations. He wanders off to soak up some sunlight--London was enjoying freezing rain yesterday--and I walk down the beach to sample. Yep. The sand is better down here. I build the rest of the pile with this. You do the best you can with what you have; I'll just have to keep in mind the weakness of the pile's lower part. 4. Diesel The wind backs around to the north and I'm enveloped in diesel exhaust, gasoline fumes and noise. I hope this doesn't hold. At least it's not so hot. Carrying sand makes this a lot tougher, but carving sand is, for me, a highly tactile experience. I do it because it feels good, and fine sand feels a lot better under my fingers than the coarse material. It's interesting how a small decrease in grain size makes such a big difference. At four feet I call it good. Probably more than good, but I had lots of water left so put in two more buckets of sand. Rich walks up as I'm eating the first apple. The pile is seasoning, losing its excess water. 5. Fitful As the wind puffs back and forth, now seaward and desiccated, now landward and rich with the sea's breath, I consider the pile. There are ideas but choosing one is difficult. I start with an exercise in overlapping surfaces. The bottom one bulges outward as it goes up about a foot. The next starts inside the top and also bulges outward, then tucks in to the foot of the third. That one goes to the top in a tense curve. I cut back the sides so these elements will stand out, but in the process of carving become sidetracked. The base of the upper surface has a nice flow so I continue it outward to the east, then down in a curve that counters that of the second panel. This defeats the plan of having a large open area on the east side. On the west, the top part swings down and around to meet a leaf shape that projects from the original second panel. The sculpture's first opening is through the very top, a nice slanting space through which a rib comes from the east and ends. Somehow I lack focus. It's as if several different ideas are vying for expression and I can't settle on any of them. The short day doesn't help. 6. Onshore "That feels almost like a kite wind!" "I was just thinking the same thing." We assemble the big kite. "I think it'll handle two fish." It wants a little help at first, in getting out of the turbulent lower air, but once up fifty feet it sails nicely. The intense colors glow against a sky gone clear blue, the kite's attendant polychrome trout swimming in the slipstream. "Where else would you expect to find a rainbow trout?" The sculpture still dries rapidly. Coarse sand does that. I set the spray nozzle for coarse so the flow will increase. Carving the coarser lower section reinforces what I've learned about tools. In the early days I did a lot more work by hand, simply digging with my fingers and rubbing. Sometimes I wonder why I no longer do this so much. The reason comes from the sand; fine sand packs so well that fingers are nearly useless. It's easy to rub and scratch the lower half of this sculpture. Today I have three new tools. Two of them are knifelike items, modified from cheap stainless kitchen knives bought at the supermarket. Larry wants one of these but I can't find one like my original so I'm testing these. The smaller paring knife works well for small cuts but its narrow blade doesn't work as well for clearing sand from the cut as my wider one. The longer utility knife is too willowy but still useful for deeper cuts. I also bought a melon baller. So far it has stayed in the tub. Supermarkets: suppliers to the greatest sand sculptors in the world! 7. Box Kite On the lifeguard tower the flag standard is vibrating. Rich and I look at each other simultaneously. "The box kite's in the red sleeve, if you want to try it." Surfers catch occasional rides on the variable waves. They wait a long time for them. With the sculpture's southeast aspect fairly well defined, it's time to turn it from a sketch into reality. The second panel becomes hollow, the space connecting both to a narrow slot on the panel's west edge and to a bigger space on the far west of the sculpture. The intent is to get daylight in there, but the space is too tight and angled. Angles are a problem with this whole piece. I find myself trying to find a tool that will get into where I need to carve, failing several times. I need a strong steel tipped finger with about ten joints. 8. Slowing Rich's box kite effort flies for a few minutes. Then it becomes a race between his ability to reel in line and the kite's gravity-mandated sinking. Gravity wins. It was nice while it lasted. I'm glad I didn't put the parafoil up; there's a sculpture to finish. Not wanting to get radical with the sculpture's weaker half limits what I can do. The eastern section becomes decorated with a big curlicue, elegant mass hiding. The other problem is daylight. Our shadows are growing rapidly. Still, I want to do something decent down here. I settle for strong, chiseled shapes. There's no time for considering more complex forms except in details. The top arc curves down to the sculpture's midline and around to the west. Below it I cut the sand back in a stiff curve that continues eastward and up between the top arch and another, somewhat lower, that's east of the top. That piece ends a third of the way down with a rounded knob and a tightly curved space. It has good definition but looks too familiar. Familiarity is a problem with the whole thing. I'm beginning to feel disappointed, although ever since the last sculpture I've been wondering if the undulating puzzle piece look has run its course. This one combines elements of both designs. "This one holds together better than most." "Yah. Thanks, Rich." It does have harmony, but I still feel disappointed. What do I want? Good question. 10. Calm "Oops. Look at your delta." The little kite's baskets no longer spin and it's sinking. I start reeling. "Maybe it'd fly without the tails." Rich walks the line down, removes the tails and I coax the kite back into the sky. It stays only a few minutes as the wind sags further. The big kite hangs on a little longer. "It's time for clean-up. I'm not very happy with the lower half, but it's still dramatic. And standing." "Yes. This is good." Clean-up is difficult. Lots of little crannies that are hard to clean out, and some projections I don't want to break off. Many parts never got completely carved. Maybe it's hunger. Even with an infusion of Rich's cashews the apples just didn't do it. Where's a Force Primeval Bar when you need it? I'd even settle for one of Larry's super deli sandwiches. Finally it's clean and signed. If I could see it for what it is I think I'd like it. "It has old elements but they're made in a new way." "Yes. They're more, oh, fluid than they used to be." Rich is right. I'm still disappointed. 11. Turbulent We photograph it as the sun drops into thin clouds far to the west. A sundog shines through darker vapor. Slow-moving air carries moisture that condenses on everything cold. How fragile is my sense of sculptural worth. From triumph to dog meat in two weeks. I'm almost depressed as I ride home, watching the sun set bright red through a small hole in the clouds and the mood continues as I make a much needed dinner. More consideration and some distance brings new ideas. Part of the problem with this piece was its profile: tall and slender. I think this is getting old. The bigger problem might be my need for newness. This used to come at a measured pace; I felt no need to flog myself into radically ever-changing sculptures. I just let things happen, as with any other miracle. In the last few years I've gotten used to producing miracles on demand. Maybe I need to work on refinement. Maybe I need to remember that it's just sand, that it can't carry the load I'm putting on it.

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