99P-6 "Wavebreak 2"

It's late. Six o'clock by the time I get most systems running; the tide has already reached its low point and will be poised for the change. Well, I'm on vacation time.

Build number:	99P-6
Title:	"Wavebreak 2"
Date:	July 31
Location:	Venice Breakwater, south side
Start:	0700; building time: approx 2.75 hours
Height:	4 feet
Base:	2 X 4 feet, irregular plan
Photography:	14 exposures on RA 135-24 w/WR

Skateboards aren't for hurrying. If you need to make time, use a bicycle. I fret as I push along the bike path, but the beach is in fine shape with a broad expanse of dark sand running gradually into the water. To give myself time I start digging at about the two-foot level. Water is too far down; I'll have to carry it. This slows the process but is no real problem with the collapsible bucket from my pack. The sand is a delight, creamy, packing well. The pile builds into a long irregular design, a big lobe on the west, a smaller one to the east, a point from the big lobe pointing south. This adds to the interest in a free-pile sculpture, but pile planning takes steady building. I have to pause to get water and the top of the pile dries out so new layers don't spread smoothly. My original idea for a leaning narrow concave surface between the two lobes has to be abandoned, turning instead into a tall tower on the west connected with a bridge to the slight enlargment of the eastern lobe. It has taken too long. The tide has turned and water is now climbing the beach. I'll have to be speedy. Seated comfortably on the uphill side, I emphasize the swayback in the bridge, smoothing it all the way from the east end up and around the midpoint of the tower. It wraps smoothly down, nearly to the ground, with the edges separated from the end pieces by curving narrow cuts. The east end piece takes on more undercut and is smoothed around to the north. I work the same treatment into the tower's lower section, then cut away the lowest part of the bridge preparatory to a space underneath. It's time to work on the tower. I've already undercut to provide separation for the bridge's top; I amplify this and then tuck a surface from above into it. This surface undulates all the way to the top, and wraps around to the north. Sunlight blasts down. No clouds and very little breeze. A few people wander past, one from Toronto who's very glad to be here instead of his hot hometown and a teacher who stops to talk while I work. The conversation covers many bases, but I confuse him with the Toronto man. Oh, well, I'm a sand sculptor, not an ambassador. He doesn't mind, it seems. "Will you be here for a few more minutes?" "Yes." I eye the ocean. "Probably another 45 minutes or so." "My son is 14 and trying to build some things. I'd like him to see this." There's nothing like a good Pismo clam shell. It makes short work of taking out sand from the sculpture's middle, under the bridge, leaving a long surface inward from the east that goes behind the tower's lower end. The space connects through as I lay my head on the sand to see what I'm doing. "How did you do this?" The woman is back with her son. I sit on the borrow pit's edge and grab some wet sand. "You dig a hole deep enough to have water seep in, then pile handfuls of it like this." I plop the sand onto the beach and pat it. "This gets very messy, as you can tell from looking at me." The audience steps back. "Then you add more until you get the pile you want. Make sure you keep it wet." "OK. Thank you." The tower's lower part sweeps southward in a cusp that was cast in place as the pile went up, then smoothed. I cut through behind this, connecting with the central space. Water enters the borrow pit, calling time. The ends aren't well developed, but the whole thing has great rhythm. The east end looks like it's trying to take off, the bridge floats and the tower's long south leg swings up and ends. Talk about fewer parts; there's not much here, but what is, is good. I clean it up and grab the camera. It's already loaded. A sandproof camera isn't much good if you have to open it with sandy hands. "This is my favorite angle." I amble over to take a look. It's good, so I shoot the teacher's point of view. "I like this one, too." He's on the uphill side. "And this one," more over to the west. He gives me a sheepish smile. Well, that's part of the design: you have to walk around and a passing runner proves the point by making an alpha turn and giving me thumbs up. I walk around, shooting various angles and perspectives. Waves are now spending themselves against the sculpture's legs. This might make a good photo. I shoot one standing, then sit down immediately uphill and wait. It doesn't take long. Two or three energetic waves combine and flow uphill. At what looks like a good moment, water swirling through the sculpture's spaces, I carefully level and shoot. Parallel cracks have opened in the bridge's skirt. It holds for a few moments and then all four feet of the tall tower leans, leans, starts to break, then falls over onto the bridge, leaving nothing but chunks. Well, few of my sculptures go gracefully, unlike Gerry Lynas'. His are teamwork between sand and water. Mine are imposed on the beach, an engineered solution. I move south to the swimming area, catch one good wave, then head home. The Saturday crowd is already building, but one on a skateboard just slips through unimpeded. I'm glad I got photos. This one didn't hang around long enough to remember in any detail.

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