Structurally the sailcloth form is now in good shape, with the big Naugahyde patches holding the rips closed. Every patch caused cracks to propagate through the pile when I made 00F-21 and this problem must be addressed.
Perhaps a slip sheet would do the trick. What I need to do is decouple the sand from the form. I cut a piece from a green plastic tarp, oversize, and glue it in place with spots of spray-on adhesive. The idea is to allow the tarp to slide under the form as I release the clamp, thereby preventing the sand from trying to follow the form.
2. Hassle with a Reason
It used to be simple. I could carry my form and everything else in one trip from the car. I'd take pot luck on tide and sand and didn't worry too much about design.
Now I have a five-foot trailer loaded with equipment, and more on my back. Photography, tools, sand sampling, videography, a Web site, enzovoort. The results are better now and the additional equipment is one reason why. But it's still all a hassle.
And now I have to make one more special trip to the beach. Friday afternoon as the glue is drying on the form I load the sand cart, five buckets, a tarp and the new stainless steel shovel onto the trailer and ride to the beach.
Larry Dudock showed the way. I'd thought about doing this for years but, preferring simplicity, when the tide was out of sync I just used what sand I could find. Now the tide is about as low as it gets and there's a huge expanse of very good sand. I set to work.
I dig a broad hole and line it with the tarp. Half an hour later it's full of dark, wet sand. For good measure I load the buckets and spot them around the cache, wrapping the whole thing with bright yellow CAUTION tape. This is to let the beach rake operator know this stuff is here for a reason, at the risk of attracting attention from others.
On my way back from the water, after washing my hands, I realize the borrow pit is a hazard. So I spend the next hour or so building a signpost with the help of a boy and his grandfather. 00P-6 is the year's first big free-pile sculpture, done with wonderful sand and carved with a mussel shell.
The day's end is a delight. Calm, warm, flooded with a golden glow. Long shadows follow me home.
3. Worry
What all could go wrong? Various things, from vandals to the beach raker. And I might have miscalculated the cache's placement, but a frantic look at the tide book shows that the coming tide is lower than the previous. My biggest worry is the police; they may not appreciate my staking out part of the beach.
In the morning I gather my scattered wits and equipment. This is difficult after a two-month hiatus and I'm half an hour later than I wanted to be getting off the pad. Find the film, assemble the video kit, put some lunch into a bag. And the roll-up table to keep sensitive things out of the sand.
Morning light washes the sand. Low surf splashes gently, just lapping over the beach's cusp. The cache is completely untouched, as if it had been invisible.
Filling the form goes rapidly with the sand right there. It's like having the ease of native sand with the quality of low-tide sand. Wonderful! All it took was an extra trip and a little time.
"Sir, I'm afraid you need a permit for this kind of work."
"I knew it would come to this someday. Do I have to knock everything down?"
"You know that Jim would expect me to give you a hard time."
"Yes, Dave. How are things? I've been on an extended break."
"Going well. Jim's helping his father with some calligraphy and we're all enjoying the fall season. Enough people to keep us awake but not the summer mobs."
"Today's great. I'm glad summer's over."
After about two hours the form's as full as it can be, with sand left over. As I peel it I cross my fingers. For once practice follows theory: the pile is tight, solid and crack-free. Yeow! We're on our way.
4. 1996 Informs 2000
I'd just finished making Web pages for some 1996 sculptures. Evaluating slides and negatives and scanning them caused me to look at these pieces all over again. I liked them. Simpler than what I've been doing, and elegant. Honest, too, pure engineering under a thin veneer of nascent art.
Contrast that with recent works. Lots of short curves, art in search of enough engineering to hold it up. Yah, they have their points. Mainly, they are interesting to look at.
I want more. I want beauty. I also want daring, if I can get it. Everything I've built lately looks groundbound. I want a sculpture to fly.
I start this one by trimming around its top with the Sand Knife. This turns out to be an underappreciated tool; its blade, centered through my grip, is easy to direct precisely. The Super Slicer tends to dig in because its blade is offset. After a few minutes the sculpture has a nice graceful taper.
The first idea is for two thin elements to spread outward at the top, with a connection between them about a foot down. There is no time on this short day for extended consideration so I grab the Loopfinger and take a long swing down, in and then out. Ah, it's nice to be back.
The design looks too simple. How to make it more interesting while avoiding the excess complexity is an interesting problem. Initial indications are that no solution will show up today but there's nothing to do but keep trying. Complexity within simplicity, one to make it interesting, the other to make it beautiful.
5. Race the Sun
A sculpture is made of hard three-dimensioned space wrapped around hollows. Rotate it to view all aspects as they change, or walk around it and follow the changes. This is what video does, and I've been editing the footage of this year's sculptures.
Maybe that's what prompted the three bulging elements that start from the top's outward-leaning element. They start narrow and slope gradually, then take a hook around to the left while growing wider. The top one ends against another nearly straight element, but the middle one, after making room for a space, drops. The third curves broadly down, ending only at the base of the sculpture. There's room for spaces between and I hollow them out, searching for daylight.
What good is a hole if you can't see it? They might be academically interesting, but they don't show in photographs.
"Rich, I'd like to be able to see through here."
"How about removing that chunk inside?"
"I think you're right. I wonder if it'll hold." I pick up the Big Loop and start digging. The sand is solid and cuts cleanly, and as daylight enters the space the small hole on the far side begins to glow.
"That worked out well."
"Yes."
"Now I wonder about this one."
Near the base a big flowing element ends. I want to tunnel upward under the end; one entry has an obvious exit and this space opens up. Where will the second one exit? I guess it'll just have to be above the other, with a septum between to help hold things together.
"You have room for two more, you know."
"I see one of them. Oh, that. You want me to go through there? Oh, my." Videotape is cheap. I dry my hands and do something else different: safety video. A full walkaround of the rough sculpture, and then some detail-following shots of the area where Rich wants more space.
"OK, now we're ready to go."
But the rescue boat roars past, its lifeguards giving me their two-armed greeting and I have to tape that so I return the wave one-armed instead of dancing around as I usually do. Then it's back to work.
I need to speed things up, but I've already made one decision: finish work will be scanted. The sun on this short day is zipping across the sky. The holes go through, one-two, and the sculpture stays up.
"Here's another place that needs light. It's small."
"Every little bit of nothing helps."
I punch through under the second nearly horizontal arch and the space glows.
6. Completion
"It's a quarter of five."
"Wow. Seems like just fifteen minutes ago you told me it was three o'clock. Well, I think I'll be OK; the major work is finished."
I pick up the brush and small offset-handle knife. Trimming, brushing, cleaning out waste sand.
Think of lace made from sand.
"You could call it 'Weightless 3.'"
From every observational viewpoint slanting sunlight passes through.
"I count 16 holes. Or 17."
Golden light paints the inside, sparking on bits of mica.
"What I like is the flowing. Yes, it has lots of parts but they all look like one thing."
Lines catch light and make shadows.
"I wonder what's holding it together."
Big spaces take in undiluted light, reflecting it into smaller glowing spaces.
"it's a good one."
Parts start out warm and golden, turn a corner into cooler blue shade.
"I was afraid it was going to be more of the same for the first hour or so, but then something happened."
7. Moving Light
One common comment from viewers of "The Year in Sand: 1999" video is that a walkaround is the best way to see a sculpture. Following the sculpture's parts as they bend and sway around the spaces also helps. With all this wonderful light I just can't resist. Forget the stills.
As the sun sets I track light and shadow, red and orange and blue. Planning the shots helps, but I also look for surprises. Sailboats against the sparkling sea, a pelican on the breakwater's end, a congeries of gulls on the low-tide flat.
After the sun sets I shoot the full walkaround. This ensures constant lighting and no flare in the lens, and controls contrast. When properly white balanced this footage has the even light of a foggy day and shows every detail in subtle shading.
And that's it. No more light.
8. A Final Problem
Dragging the trailer across miles of dry sand seems more difficult than it should, and this doesn't change when I reach harder ground. I must be more tired than I think.
One thing is sure: I'm badly out of shape. My shoulders hurt, my legs hurt. I never thought of sand sculpture as conditioning, but I feel its lack. And then I find out one reason: the trailer has a flat tire. Completely flat. No point in pumping it up, so I just drag the whole thing home, sweating, and stuff it into the garage. Deal with the problems later. Right now I need hot food.
The two-month break was just that: away from impossibilities that had become routine, and a chance to rethink sculpture. Yes, my shoulders hurt, but I think it was worth it.
Visitors:
Dave, lifeguard on duty
Rich
Michael
LAPD, on several drivearounds
