99H-4 "January Child"

Sixteen years old January child Tryin' to get to the sky.

I'm not exactly up for this one. There's been too much going on for the last few months, but the tide is right only twice a month at this time of year and I can't wait another two weeks. So what if I'll be slow. The days are growing longer, accelerating toward equinox, picking up over a minute per.

Build number:	99H-4 (lifetime start #155)
Title:	"January Child"
Date:	February 6
Location:	Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start:	0745; building time: 8 hours
Height:	4.5 feet
Base:	1.6 feet (cylindric)
Photography:	1 roll RA135-24, LX w/85mm

Pick an event. Trace backward the smaller happenings that led to its inevitability until they disappear into the noise of old memory, with only the most powerful rising above that floor to remain within recall. I arrive home in tears. My incoherent description of casual brutality at school is met not with an attempt to understand but a pronouncement that I shouldn't be so sensitive. Maybe I shouldn't, but what can I do? You might as well tell the station wagon in the garage that it should be a sports car. Like any other plant I grow to fit circumstances. Music is one reminder, the song's words echoing my memories of wanting something more than middle class inevitability. A friend's well aimed comment is another, and my thoughts follow the lead of memory. In those days the dreams were big. Remake the world, make everything shiny and beautiful, steer a lovely lively course. The river is far too big to turn from its course and the dreams turn to words. Some of them turn into sand. With hybrid sculptures to date the design sensibility has run from free-pile to form, with its small elements. The last one pretty well exhausted that route, at least as to what can be done in one day. Bert's comments as he looked at proofs convinced me that it was time to try something new. Can the larger elements of formed sculpture work in a hybrid? In particular, I'd like to turn it upside down. There's only one way to find out. As usual, the pile has its own voice. Free-piled sand always has a complex shape, and within that there are soft spots that I must work around. So, I had an idea but the pile went another way, growing a big bulb at the top. Maybe we can compromise. "Good morning, Larry." "Hi, Simon." The weather is cool and cloudy, with some breeze. Only surfers are in the water. "What a beautiful day!" "Yes. And it changes all the time. I hope these clouds don't turn into anything." "I think they won't. Just leftovers from the storm." He scans the beach with binoculars as the sun plays hide-and-seek through low grey puffs. "Well, I'll be back to check on you." "Thanks." He drives off to look after the northern end of his range. The first step is to find out how much of the extension is solid. I give it a good spraying, then rub away the poorly consolidated sand with gently questing fingers. Carving still reveals surprises that become part of the design. The top turns into a sort of curl with an opening on the seaward side that goes in and under the curl. To gain access for lightening the top I carve a deep vertical groove on the south side that might become a backbone if I have time. Gently I dig inside the topknot, removing sand so I can make the lower works more delicate. The result isn't attractive. Well, I'll leave it for later. Moving around to the north I bring a panel down and out, trying for a springy curve. Beneath that another panel curves inward from the base. That panel's east edge curves in deeply, with a knotted pillar to hold the top up. All the overlapping panels look good. I like it. The problem with liking a sculpture is that I want it to stand. This militates against experimentation. With time and thought and feeling the sculpture, even the parts that started out awkwardly, grows into a whole. It seems to touch passersby more strongly than usual. One man tries to persuade me that it would be better if permanent, and doesn't understand when I tell him that making the sculpture is what I want to do. Rich tells me of showing photos to a violin player who lamented the sculpture's ephemeral nature while not even thinking how much more brief are his musical phrases. If he wants the music to last, he has to play it again. When I'm finished, the ocean cleans off my canvas and I can try again. I try to explain, but it seems futile. Others enjoy in the moment and call it good. The breeze turns brisk. Rich dons his jacket and I follow suit. Clouds come and go low over the mountains, building and flowing in puffs of silvery vapor. My shadow lengthens and runs eastward. I call it good. "You know, Rich, cleaning up a sculpture used to take ten or fifteen minutes." "That was long ago." "Yah." I work over the sculpture with the soft brush. It looks more simple than it really is, taking much gentle rubbing to smooth out construction marks. A sculpture is made of space and solidity. Balancing the two is a fascinating process; I usually do better with one or the other, with the bias in favor of the hard parts. Space serves to define the rest. This sculpture's spaces take an active role in the design, enhancing the effect of the hard elements. This makes me wish for the video camera, but stills will have to do. After cleaning the base and signing it, I take a minute to look. Some parts work better than others; the bifurcation of the main pile going into the topknot is one that didn't work well, at least from some angles. The deep undercuts and twisting spaces work well, and most of the lower section looks like it belongs to a sculpture rather than being there only to hold the rest of it up. Success used to be measured by whether it was still standing at the end of the five-hour day. Now, at the end of eight hours and 17 years, success is harder to gauge. Design is sort of like a flock of sheep that defies any excess guidance but listens to the underlying reasons of field and path. In my case the path is felt much more than seen, felt in fingertips and mind, memory and feeling, and the result is made solid. Success is measured by the feeling. This one feels good, carven sand reaching four and a half feet for the sky. It's a four Force Primeval Bar sculpture, but I had only one. And a pear, and a few nuts and some of Rich's cashews. I'm starving and cold, he's just cold. We push the bike off the beach and call it a good day.

Top of Page Library Human Touch Museum 1999 Sculptures 1998 1997 1996 1995 All contents (except quote) copyright 1999 by Larry Nelson lord_chaos@compuserve.com Written 99 February 7 Lead-in quote is by Judy Collins, from "Born to the Breed"

99h04rpt.htm 99 February 28
99 April 23
May 7