00F-23

There's a little boy pickin' out hickory nuts And a-pickin' 'em from the shell Wonderin' why squirrels fly Hopin' he'll do as well He's hopin' he'll do as well He's hopin' to fly from limb to limb as well.

Off the Ground A swirl of sound and movement surrounds Michael and me at the rough picnic table. Students of many ages meet and part, soft-boundary groups assembling and mixing. One girl shrieks, runs across the alley and leaps into the arms of a rather embarrassed boy. No one else notices. All is routine, magic being made second by second. This is a school? Michael's class is made of individuals that he guides deftly in a common direction. The students are interested and listen to him most of the time. When my turn comes I'm peppered with questions showing that they've been listening to me also. Life fills the alley. Michael and I watch, and talk about what makes Crossroads different from other schools. Walk along the borders of Santa Monica High's closed campus and you'll see kids whose main attribute is boredom. This place fizzes and sparks; may this activity and interest continue forever. The world needs more people who care, and the public school's main lesson is that no one should care. It's fragile. It's all enough to fire me up. I visit another class, where Robbie Conal, the poster artist, is giving a presentation. It's easy to tell he's here as a representative of USC, and has given the same talk many times. Does he care about what he's doing any more? It seems to me that he's just going through the motions. Yeow, I hope my presentation is more lively.

Build number:	00F-23 (lifetime start #208)
Date:	October 21
Location:	Venice Breakwater, on the flat
Start:	0900; building time 8 hours
Height:	4.4 feet
Base:	1.75 feet, cylindric
Photography:	2 TMX120 w/67II and 165
Videography:	360 walkaround, stills and detail tracking w/XL1

1. Conditions This one is a throw-away. Tide precludes getting good sand, but I have a simple idea and need the conditioning for next week's real effort. I'll be home by 5 o'clock. I pull the trailer across a dark and fine beach. Wow! The day's plan suddenly falls apart and re-crystallizes around this wonderful gift. Seaweed covers the sand behind the breakwater, strongly scenting the slow breeze with iodine. The stump of last week's sculpture is still there. I level it for re-use. Recycling the sand would save even more time but it's too scattered. "Larry!" I look behind me. Two men are approaching but I recognize neither. And then "David? I gave up on you guys a long time ago." They'd said they'd send Email about when they had the videotape finished. "We finished that project. Now I'm doing it again, using what I learned. The interview you gave last time was great, but we didn't use the later one." "I was embarrassed by that one anyway. Never interview a sand sculptor after the sculpting; I had no brain." "No, the interview was good. It just didn't fit with the rest; we'd have people and then the sculpture." By the time we're finished comparing notes and discussing microphones the water has drained out of my form. David wanders off to find an interview subject while George sets up his recorder. I keep packing. It feels like forever, but I finally get the form filled. 2. Simple... Well, Maybe Not I start with the simple idea that grew from the assumption that I'd have to use coarse sand: a long sweeping wraparound leg from bottom to top. Its top would come back around and down. Near the bottom other ribs would separate and spread around narrow openings. That much is easy. But the pile is very solid, inviting thin sections. This gets me into trouble near the top where I carve some small details for which there is no time. But they look so good! "The lifeguards are waving." I look up. "Thanks, Rich." They sneaked up on me, but are now doing their two-handed dance on the deck of the boat. I echo their antics, eliciting even more activity. Wintertime. Everyone has more time for playing. The top-crossing arch takes on a tense, twisting shape that fans out and then simply ends. Below that I carve a bulging piece that curves sideways and then turns inside. Big corrugations help show where this part goes, in and behind a tall thin leg that supports the various elements on top. A steady breeze runs under big grey clouds. Occasionally sunlight spears out through gaps, striking sparks from the ocean. A flotilla of boats, centered on a big two-master, coasts past, dipping and rising. Pelicans fly high, southbound. I race the daylight. The top-crossing arch leans outward, with another arch segment below. The lower one looks too plain so I carve a knob in the end and run it into a curving hollow. "When the days get shorter, I just have to carve faster." "Yeah. This one used to be simple." Still, it's simpler than most I've done this year, and benefits from the simplicity. Subtle reshaping here and there helps define parts and makes them fit in different ways. "I used to think this sort of thing was cheating. Mass hiding. But a little change in a line can make a big change in how it looks." "Like those ribs that go in behind. They add far more to the sculpture than they should, based on their size." "Thank you for making this. It's the highlight of my beach walk." She'd been standing nearby, listening to my fatigue-induced loose-tongue art criticism. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it." And she's taken away some of my fatigue. "You have one more hole to work on, but as far as I can see it can only go up." "Well, upward holes are a drag. You can't see 'em. We'll have to come up with something better." This, after I've already cut that tall space for the corrugations. But I'm not gonna tell Rich anything; make 'im wait for the sand to move. "If that's the way you're going, I'd better get safety shots." I start boring, right through the base, intending to come out under the corrugated part. "I think it'll hold; it's a good pile." Heavy Diesel noise builds. The lifeguard boat labors past, then turns sharply toward a sailboat that doesn't show any sign of trouble. Their bullhorn carries down the wind but I can't understand a word. Then there's a honk from the siren, the two-arm salute and the water cannon flinging flaming water into the sunset. Rich and I nearly fall over laughing. It does hold, the hole going through and adding more daylight to the design. But that daylight is something becoming ever more precious. "Another nice thing about simpler sculptures: they're easy to clean up." As long as I don't get overly involved in details. 3. Images I'm always amazed at how fast time passes. What looked like lots of time for photography and video has suddenly turned into too dark to see anything. Forget the details, just try to get a walkaround. The light is much too inviting for black-and-white photography for me to resist. On these short days the choice seems to be either video or photo. There's not even time for me to look at the sculpture. 4. Wraparound I still can tell that it has a wholeness and elegance that has been lacking. Last week's piece started something and this one adds to it. "I like this one better than the last one." "Why, Rich? Besides the big spaces, of course." "Well, those help. But I like the variety in this one." His thoughts echo mine; I thought the last one was the ne plus ultra but it was just another step on the way. To where? To some remnant of a childhood dream of beauty? In Michael's classroom is a sign reading "Why be normal?" Why, indeed. Normal just repeats the same old mistakes. Even their own mistakes. Rich and I together pull the heavy trailer across the dry clinging sand under damp slow air. A soft glow from the west is the last sign of the sun as I work my way north. Visitors: Rich David (videographer) George (sound man) Tim Quote is from "Bushy Tail," a traditional folk song on Malcolm Dalglish's "Pleasure" CD.

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