99H-3 "The Challenger"

Rain is forecast for tomorrow. That would be fine with me; the land is very dry. As I ride to the beach I see clouds scattered here and there. The breakwater is being pummeled by big surf, and I add a "big surf factor" to my judgement of where to put the sculpture, and hope I've allowed enough.

Build number:	99H-3 (lifetime start #154)
Title:	"The Challenger"
Date:	January 23
Location:	Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start:	0745; building time: 7.5 hours
Height:	4.5 feet (short form with free-pile extension)
Base:	1.6 feet (cylindric)
Photography:	1 roll TMX135-36, LX w/85mm

Big surf drives water farther up the beach and rearranges the sand. I work fast to get the good sand before it can be covered by big waves reaching beyond the normal high-tide cusp, where coarser sand lies. A little change in sand size makes a big difference in what I can make. Over the Santa Monica Mountains cumulus clouds grow through layers of sea-born vapor. Malibu is invisible. Sheets of dot-clouds flow overhead, lined up like silvery cookies in rows. Waves immolate themselves against the rocks and a gentle breeze carries the spray into my face.

Dig, carry, tamp, water, repeat. The hybrid sculpture puts strength where it's needed and cuts the packing time to around one and a quarter hours. This leaves more time for carving, and also makes a smaller pile that ordinarily would take less time to carve. Instead, I wind up using all the time to make a more considered and detailed sculpture. Parts of the process need to be videotaped, but in attempt to keep the tail and dog separate I've left the camcorder at home. Today I need to concentrate. Simon, on duty today, comes down to inspect the process. We have a sandy handshake as he continues to scan the beach. The word has gone out and surfers show up in a steady trickle. The waves are getting crowded, and some of the surfers are getting good rides. The pile winds up being nearly symmetric, except for an added knob beside the extension that reaches nine inches or so upward. It won't stick to the original extension, but I can take care of that with leaning. My original idea was for a cluster of outward-spreading leaves. As I start carving the first leaf, at the top, something else in the pile's shape suggests another design, and being a man of little discipline I follow the impulse. The leaf turns into a concave panel wrapped around the extension, with a round top tucked into the top. Not really wanting a dome top, I make a little free-pile on the ground and carve it into a spiralling finial. When finished it's too big and heavy. Still, it was an interesting experiment in microsculpture and might be good in another application. Part of the experimental process is the challenge of recovering from mistakes. On the south side, I cut a deep vertical flute that seemed like a good idea at the time. As the sculpture develops this flute no longer fits, but it has to fit. I leave it alone, hoping for inspiration, and make another mistake farther up. A neat idea suggests itself, but hunger pangs take precedence. When I return, I've forgotten what the wonderful idea was. Part of the problem is general fatigue. It has been a busy couple of months and I'm beginning to feel like a marathon runner in the 27th mile. Rich ambles up as I'm deeply engrossed in trying to figure out how to make a branching element fit on the west. Shortly after that, Terry toddles past. I'm rather surprised, given that it's a chilly day by southern California standards. We chat for a few minutes, and then he heads for his usual spot a quarter mile north. The big surf has brought lots of gawkers. As the tide rises they crowd into a smaller space, of which I'm the center. It feels almost like a summer Saturday. One fellow runs up, cheering as waves boom against the rocks, barely able to contain his enthusiasm long enough to say something to me before he whirls off to something else. "Did that jacket come with batteries?" "No, this is my stealth suit. You can't see me." The wind is chill and I have on the orange-and-magenta windbreaker as I walk to the restroom, drawing the comment from one of the surfers hanging out around the lifeguard tower. Every group has one. The sculpture is turning into a network wrapped around spaces. This is something I've wanted to do for a long time; one goal I have is to make a sculpture whose spaces contribute as much to the design as the hard parts. Most of the time, if I have good spaces the surrounding sand just looks like legs. This one is coming along, probably because it's relatively small and I can keep it all in my mind at once. As I carve I think "I'm finally getting to be pretty good at this." It's also getting thoroughly undercut in places. I don't understand how the top section can stay on; it's undercut by about a third of its width. There is some counterpoise, inside the top, but I wonder if it's enough. Final shaping up there will have to be very gentle. Sets of big waves drive water well beyond where a normal 3.8 foot tide would go. One wave goes all the way into the base borrow pit behind me as I carve, drawing shrieks from onlookers whose shoes are now full of cold seawater. The silvery cloud cookies have spread, each one getting bigger and dropping lacy tendrils. The subtle tracery is beautiful, but they block the sun and it gets colder. This is good for crowd control.

On the north I make a long rib that stands out from the rest. Its top takes a dogleg and cuts back into the top section. I cut the midsection away from the main sculpture, making a very nice hollow that goes two ways. One ends in a deep cut below the branch structure, the other inside the deep vertical cut whose lower section is still a design problem. Around on the west, I outline two sections, the branch's base on one side and a concave leg on the other, and cut deeply. One thing I've learned in the last few months is to make holes that are more than holes, and these have shaped entries and exits, and texture inside. Every pile of sand has an inside along with the outside. "You should make these from marble! You could make money!" "Yes, but then I'd have to be a businessman. I just want to be a sculptor." "In Ukraine, I have a big studio. I'm an artist. Make much money." His wife tries to break in and tell another side of the story, but both are convinced that I should, at least, have a tip bucket out. I think about asking them to run an experiment: go up to the boardwalk, where the guys do sand sculpture for tips, and observe. See how much fun they're having, and how much time they spend trying to manage the busking. "Those who want to give me money always find a way to do so. They put it in the tool tub, or in my portfolio book." They walk off, uncomprehending. At the bottom of the east side I put in a round hole that connects with the gallery from the west. Its entry is shaped into a round arch. The lacy clouds have spread and thinned. Layers of vapor flow in and over the mountains, but to the west the air is clearer and we can see the tops of Catalina's mountains. Sheets of cloud define the western horizon and the sun plays hide-and-seek through the local ones. It's a beautiful day; dramatic weather is a real treat. "There's a big wind coming from the northeast!" "What?" I'm on my way back from another restroom run. These cold days make water management more tricky. "Yes. Santa Anas. Strong ones." I look at the cloudy sky, feel the damp wind from the west, and my fog-bound brain just can't figure out what he's talking about. "Just kidding, man." "Oh, yes. If I had a brain right now I'd have figured that out." I guess I'm developing a reputation here. "I'm about out of sand." "Yes. The only place you need to work on is over here." That's Rich, never shy. "I know. It's next on the list." It's that deep cut on the south. Its upper section is handled, but what can I do with the bottom? There's not enough sand to cut through, which was the original plan. I settle for mass hiding, smoothing it out and continuing the concave around and up. This winds up fitting well. I'm very tired. There's no more sand to remove. Actually, I don't know why the remanent sand is still upright, but I'm glad it is. Very carefully, I clean it up and give it a final spraying. There it stands, a curious blend of free-pile design sense with formed-pile structure. Rich says it's the best of the year, and his favorite of the winter. "I like it because it doesn't look like a hybrid." I like it, but perhaps not that much. I do notice that it hides its origin very well; the trick in stepped piles like this is to keep the step from influencing the design. In this the sculpture succeeds better than its predecessors, even the two- and three-stage form ones from a couple of years ago. The design problem is the same. I'm simply too tired to appreciate it. I photograph as carefully as I can, walking around, kneeling, lying on the sand looking up. The cold has gotten to both of us. There's still an hour's worth of daylight, but we pack it in. As we push past the tower, Simon comes out. "That's a good one! I think it's best you've done in a long time." "I agree. The winter's best." What would I do without friends?

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