1. Long Lead Time
Something new? I take a side trip, riding the narrow streets until I enter the alley. The place is active today, people dancing to music from a hidden stage. Where do they find room? A banner proclaims the "Creativity Festival," and the dancers are living demonstrations. I edge my way through, between dynamic crowd and tiny booths set up to display what people have made. Finally I slip through the door into relative quiet.
Three cats glare balefully down from the highest perch they could find within the shop.
"Hold on a minute. I'll be right there!"
He has been busy. There are curls of cherry wood all over the floor, and small shreds hang from the whiskers of the grey cat.
There are some new pictures on the part of the wall dedicated to Lars. Small angular buildings, balanced and elegant.
"He did those on an island called Terschelling. Says the sand is pretty good. Look at this one. Must have done it over two days, cut these sections through later."
"What are these?"
"I decided to make this the 'Netherlands Wall.' These are some museum exhibits a friend of mine is working on. See the greenhouse walls? And this is the beach near where she lives. Windmills. See the machinery here? Seventeenth century wood and iron."
"It's beautiful."
We straighten up. The cats glare down at us.
"They think it's my fault. Wonder why I would inflict all that noise on them."
"I've never known a cat who was otherwise, and I'm in their camp. Must have some cat genes in me." We laugh.
"Well, here's something that might interest you." He pulls a tool out of his pocket and hands it to me.
"Wow." It's a delicate arc of wood, gracefully tapered from a hand-sized grip to just enough wood to hold the blade.
"It's a prototype. I remember you talking about a Steel Thumb."
"Yes. This looks good." Its blade is half again wider than my Steel Finger. "The angle looks good."
"Sixty degrees, steeper than the other tools, with the bevel ground to match. I've already thought about other designs, but try this and we'll find out if it works well enough to justify more work."
"All right. Thank you. I'll try it this weekend."
The door will open only partway. I edge out and work my way through the crowd.
The tool is elegant, but heavy toward the front. Inevitable with that wide blade, I guess, but I wonder if there's a better way. Trying it has to wait; weekends come and go, spent on something else. Ah, well, this tool has taken three years to make it into daylight so a few more days won't hurt.
2. Just In From Mexico
"Larry, you have a call on line 1. Larry, line 1."
"Thank you." The telephone rules the world, its insistent ring forcing us to drop everything else. I pick it up; around me, the usual business of the Control Center goes on. Timing changes, video analysis, radio transmissions. Amid all that all I can here is "Hola!"
"What?"
"That's my only bilingual pun."
Finally I get enough phonemes. "Hi, Bert. What are you up to?"
"Wondering what you're doing Friday."
Now the reason for my confusion comes clear: even when the Control Center quiets down, his words are nearly incomprehensible because the cell phone is losing every other syllable. "Well, I was thinking about doing a sculpture."
"Good. What time?"
"I don't have the tide book, but I think it'll be a midmorning start."
"Good. I'll call you tomorrow night for details."
"Larry. I'm stuck on your freeway, at Robertson. Where do I go from here? I should probably just drive straight to the beach."
Don't call it my freeway. Gargh. "Keep going west until you get to Lincoln. Go south to Venice, drive to parking lot at the end."
"Good. I'll see you there."
I put the other bicycle back in the garage and then head south.
3. Process
There's trash all over the beach, a gift from the storm drain system, but there's good sand available. This isn't always true after a storm. I pick a spot and go to work; there's no telling when the traffic will finally release Bert.
I met Bert through a friend. She showed him a photograph of one of my sculptures and he talked me into attending a contest he organized. Since then we've tried to meet for a sculpture day but other factors always got in the way, until today. I have two forms on the trailer, and enough carving tools for two.
Bert comes ambling across the sand shortly after I've started filling the form. He's wearing a hat made from palm fronds instead of his usual desert-style hat with its neck curtain but the beard is pure Beto.
"Hola!"
"Hola, Señor. Como esta?"
For four years he's been running a contest in Mazatlan. This is a weekend sand sculpture contest for roughly 150 local teams, with classes and guidance from masters Bert brings in. They fill the beach.
"This year I think I got their attention."
He tells me of his experiences as I pound sand.
"I don't really fit in there. I'm not fat, and I'm not drunk, but I'm not Mexican. One day a woman and a little girl stopped to watch. The mother stayed back, but the girl came up close to look, and then her mom called her back. I could hear them talk.
'Es gringo?'
'No es gringo,' the little girl said. The woman looked unbelieving.
'Gringo?'
'No es gringo! No es gordo. No es baracho.'"
I wince as images of fat, drunken U.S. citizens on vacation run through my mind.
"Yes. It was funny, and it was sad. It's also true. You know, there are hundreds of people who vacation down there. Stay for six months and the rest of the year they live in the U.S. Been doing it for years. 20 years, some of them, and they haven't learned any Spanish! Now, my Spanish ain't great, but I try. These are the same folks who, when they get home, complain about the Mexicans not learning the language when they come north."
"I think I'm finally getting through to them. After the event was over my cell phone started ringing. All the guys who wouldn't talk to me earlier now were calling all the time. I was late getting out of town! Next year should be really good."
He spreads his arms, indicating the quarter mile of Venice Beach.
"The beach is this long, and filled. We'll probably need to find more beach space."
He sits on a bucket, watching me fill the form, and going for water when I need it.
"I'm tired. Been driving all day for two days." Eventually he ends up on the ground, propped up by a bucket lying on its side.
"What are you doing?" He's one of the more forceful passersby.
"Making a sand sculpture."
"In there? Why don't you just pile up the sand and carve it, instead of going through all that?"
"Because this way is better. For good sculpture you need good packing, and this is the best way to do it."
Bert sits up and shakes his head. I smile, knowing what's on his mind. He says nothing. We've been over this ground before.
"All right, here's the part you're going to like." The form is full of sand carried about 50 feet up the beach, and it's pretty good stuff. I pop the latches on the form and take it away. Bert just watches, unaffected.
"C-clamps, guy. They work great."
"I've done that. Too much hassle, trying to find those things in the sand and unscrew them, and then making sure you don't lose them. And they don't come in stainless."
"You still had some leaks."
"No. Look at the form. The sand sticks to the aluminum and pulls out." Bert is very hard to impress.
4. How Much Less Is Really More?
My last two sculptures were disappointing collections of parts masquerading as a sculpture. Today's objective is to experiment with simplicity; the idea I have in mind calls for just two major parts. One will rise in a long curve from the base to the top. The second will be shorter, opposing and leaning against the other to hold its upper end. My vision stops with the basics; details, such as what goes between the two elements and how they will meet, remain to be determined.
"Do you mind if I talk?"
"No, so long as you don't mind if I don't respond very well." The sculpture is taking over. I pick up the Sand Knife.
"Cortes!"
"What?"
"Is that your sand sword?"
"The Sand Knife. First version. Later I made this other with an offset handle but it didn't work as well. See how the blade changes angle when I dig? The original's centered blade works better for this." And indeed it does, making the first element a long tense curve that looks as if it were made from spring steel.
"I want to make a new one, from cherry. It'd be pretty." The Knife is a delight to use, easy to control, but its woodwork is crude by current standards.
Junctions of elements are hard to make. They need to look of a piece, but also need separate designs. Usually when I do this sort of thing the junction adds nothing to the sculpture, being just a point where the elements meet. Sometimes the junction is simply awkward. I try harder this time, rubbing gentle curves into the meeting point, and doing subtle shaping.
"What did you find to eat?"
"Vegetables, basmati rice, other things. It's not bad."
"I didn't know that was available up there." Just as the boardwalk people don't come to the beach, the beach folks don't go to the boardwalk. Differences in taste.
"I saw your mermaid guy. I was tempted to go suggest he try something else."
"He was on TV a while back. Said mermaids are what fill the tip bucket."
"I got no problem with mermaids, I've done mermaids, but how about doing a different mermaid? I did one in Mazatlan, she had her head above the breaking wave."
I get this image of a body-surfing mermaid. Why not? Seals do it.
"I'm tempted to come back down here and make one."
"Go ahead. I'll support you; I have the cart to haul sand and water. I've thought about doing something up there but I won't do it. Just too ugly. I'd rather be here."
A few surfers are catching rides on desultory waves. Thin overcast dims the wave sparkle but the air is clear all the way to Point Dume and the mountains beyond. After playfully running around most of the compass, the wind has finally settled into the west, with a cool bite that makes the lifeguards wear their jackets.
Technical revolutions tend to have too strong an impact on art, at least for a time. New tools bring new possibilities, with a corresponding need to try them even if the results don't work sculpturally. The sculptor's task is to restrain each tool, use them purely in service of the vision. It's difficult, especially when the sand itself whispers suggestions for design. "You can make a hole here." I need to make my response "Well, that's nice, but does the design really want a hole there?"
With the two major elements and their joining established, it's time to think about the shape of the space between them. Now, how about putting greater complexity in there? It would be hidden from some angles of view, and should pick up some light as the sun sets. The idea is intriguing. Start carving.
"That looks like a rib cage." She stands on the cusp of the beach, ten feet behind me. The shapes are pretty well roughed in, with the spaces between the "ribs" cut through the surprisingly thin web between the two major elements.
"I think this is my favorite view." She's standing down the beach, looking at one of the sculpture's more solid aspects. Then she moves widdershins. "Oh, look at this!" Her friend follows. "And this! I think this is what I like best." She's looking at the shadowed side, with its small shaped holes. I guess the hidden design is working.
5. Sideshow
"How do you do this?"
"He uses that grey plastic and packs the sand in to make a solid pile."
"I do drawing. My family is all sculptors."
"Would you like to learn how?" I'll give them the usual introduction to free-piling.
Bert gets there first. "Do you have half an hour?"
"Sure. I'm Leslie, and this is my friend Jason."
"I'm Bert. To get started, take these buckets and fill them with water."
"We need to go get our stuff."
"OK. Meet me down there by that big hole." Bert was tired before, but he's all fired up now. He picks up my smaller tools and the short form and walks down to the new building site. Soon there's great activity as Jason shovels and Leslie mixes and tamps. The opportunity is too great to miss so I set up the camcorder and start taping them. After that I return to my sculpture.
Its overall design is pretty much complete, needing mainly trimming and clean-up. Bert has my small tools, so I revert to the old way: fingers and the tent stake, taking my time on this spring day in refining curves, shapes and edges.
The other group has removed the form. I pick up the camcorder and get busy taping. Jason is seated on a bucket; Leslie faces him from the sunward side of the sand cylinder and starts carving his face. Bert gives helpful pointers for this medium as the pencil artist starts to move sand.
"Can we do one too?"
"Sure." This couple is more dynamic and they fill the form in short order. Bert's busy with the others, so I supervise this team.
"You only need to unscrew them until they're flush with the bolt ends." The form comes off, and the tool tub is plundered again. They joyfully go to work any which way, no matter what the tool was designed for.
My sculpture stands alone, up the beach, glowing in the afternoon sun. I just sprayed it and have returned to the intense activity Bert started. As I videotape more of the teaching I see a familiar blue jacket.
"Hi, Rich. I thought you weren't able to come!"
"So did I. But things change."
"Bert, this is Rich Johnson."
"Pleased to meet you. I've read a lot about you."
Tool choice is sorely limited. One that's still there is the new Steel Thumb. I'd tried a few strokes with it earlier, just to see if it worked at all, and then put it aside to await its calling. Now's the time; there's detail work to be done. I use it to refine some ribbed curves. The handle shape isn't really right for this job. A straighter handle would work better, I think. Still, it does well for smoothly shaping these long curves down and around into the base.
Simplicity is a luxury. It allows more consideration of how the sculpture's parts fit with each other. Feeling an unusual relaxed flow, I continue refining my sculpture and considering its design. Then it's time for another video look at the others. The head is recognizable as such, but not specifically Jason's. The other couple is busy on a non-representational sculpture, angular where the man has been working on it, a spiral where the woman has been carving. The meeting should be interesting. He's busily tunnelling through.
"Hey, Bert! Another person who knows a pile of sand has an inside as well as an outside!"
"Mind your feet, Rich!"
A wave fills the borrow pit.
"Oh!"
"Yes, you're about out of time." I return to my sculpture. The narrow slots in the web between the major elements need reshaping but there's not enough sand left. All the activity below is a distraction, both for me and the passersby. Up here it's quiet.
Leslie calls it quits, but the others keep going in a frenzy of flying sand. They keep working right until the end, when a wave hits and undercuts the already severely unbalanced structure and the sculpture splits. One splinter remains standing.
"Oh, that was fun! I want to do it again."
"Do you live around here?"
"No, we're from Kansas."
6. Glowing Reviews
Another wave comes in and buckets start to head for Hawai'i. We corral them and count tools. Everything is eventually accounted for. The head is the one standing sculpture, its angular planes and rough surfaces quite attractive in the long light. I take some photos. A few minutes later it succumbs to the rising tide.
With a full tool kit my clean-up goes faster.
"You have a real gift for that, Bert. Things like that don't happen when I'm here alone."
"You have to multitask, Señor."
"Sorry, can't do it. The sculpture takes everything. You need to come down here more often."
I work around as the sun heads west. Cleaning, brushing, trimming.
"Is that a cosmetic brush?"
"Yes. I learned that from John . . ."
"Gowdy. Yes. Where do you get them?"
"Cosmetic stores. I mean, beauty supply stores. It's the most expensive tool I have."
"Something like $20?"
"Yes. Ridiculous, but it works well. Soft bristles don't damage the surface. Also works for clearing sand from small holes."
Even these longer spring days have to end, this one in less than an hour. I call it good and sign it.
"Five o'clock," Rich says.
"Nice piece, Señor. It's bold."
We walk around, looking. It glows in the late sun.
"Good one, Larry." Rich does his walkaround photography. I shoot some slides and then get the camcorder.
"For you sunset fans, it's about to happen."
I turn around. A fat drop of molten gold is balanced on the wet world's edge. It shrinks, fades, a sliver, gone.
"Good night, Ralph. Thanks for warming us up today."
"What's the plan for dinner?"
"Food. Hot."
"Do you like Thai?"
"Yes."
"OK. Meet at my place." We drag my trailer across the beach and I head home. Lacy clouds pick up the last rays of light from beyond the ocean.
I've eaten only an orange and an FPB since breakfast. Tom kah guy is just what I needed, along with tempura vegetables and various other things. Rich departs to make his organ concert. Bert and I talk, of books and sand and ideas, until a singer starts competing with us; we walk out, still talking shop.
I've gotten used to being the lone, one-day beach sand sculptor. Today was a delightful change, but I'm glad it doesn't go like this all the time. Bert fires up his truck and heads out, more events in the future.
| Human Touch Museum | Library | 2002 Sculpture Index |
Report written March 9
March 10 (editing and amendment)
March 18 (HTML conversion, stats table separation)
March 23 (table reintegration, image prep and integration, final design)
March 24 (additional images)
All contents designed and made by Larry Nelson