02F-17   "What Hatches from the Sandragon's Egg?"

Shelter in August

The forecast is for increasing heat. Unpleasant, yes, but also unsurprising because we're in August. The solstice is nearly two months gone but the land has been soaking up more sunshine than it can shed overnight. I've been lucky on the last three outings. August is another word for "out of luck."

August. Long days. Hot days, brown days under a hammer of subtropical sun with no hint of rain. My ancestors were from north of 40 degrees. I make sure there's plenty of sunscreen in my pack, and I fill water bottles the night before and put them in the refrigerator.

Earlier in the summer I'd planned to sit out the heat. Stay home and make new tools and equipment. Let the crowds have the beach and that flood of sunlight, but the tide lined up with my Fridays off and great need drove me out there three weekends in a row. I felt much better after that. So, we can go back to the original plan.

Wrong-O, Buzzard-breath! Sunday night or Monday morning, sometime in there, this idea came to mind, nearly fully grown. Many sculpture ideas come and go. Some of them stay long enough for me to essay their construction and be disappointed in the result. This idea won't let me go. Tuesday, Wednesday. When will the week end?

1. Calm

"Good morning, Dr. Clemmons!"
"Good morning, Larry."
Andi is off to an early start, running her usual steady pace toward the beach. We catch up on news until she turns north toward Santa Monica, and I turn south.

It's too early for even the die-hard vendors on the breakwater. Trash litters the area. Leaning palm trees loom out of the mist and pass, fading away again behind me. The usual two piles of damp sand remain where the mermaid maker works, but new pile is a short distance away. Competition?

The tide is way down. Even the surf is quiet, barely sloshing over the low points in the breakwater. Gulls drift overhead against a slow offshore breeze. I set up on the clean flat sand and hope I'm out of reach of the coming high tide.

I enjoy the fog while it's here. Usually it's a harbinger of heat to come, the result of high pressure inland limiting the sea wind's effect. I fetch water, build a base that's extra tall for tide insurance, and then set up the form and start to fill it.

I usual plumb it up after there's a few inches of sand in the base. Just look past it at the horizon to find out which way it's leaning and pull it up straight, then retamp the sand. I carried a level for this purpose until I discovered the horizon. Today I'm in the middle of a grey bubble. Looks straight to me.

"I haven't seen you here for a long time." This is the younger lifeguard, on patrol.
"I switch to Fridays in the summer. Too crowded on the weekends."
"I understand." He drives off northward. Lifeguards don't like fog very much because it's hard for them to see what's going on. A few minutes later the truck comes bowling past, siren blaring. A minute later a truck from farther north follows, also code three. They disappear into the fog south of the headquarters building.

Sometime later, Dave rolls up in his truck. "Hi, Larry."
"Hi, Dave. What was all the excitement?"
"A boat on the beach. They missed the entrance channel by about 150 yards. Big boat, too. More money than brains."
"Thinking is old-fashioned. They hire people for that."
"I'll bet he's wondering now where the hired skipper was when the boat grounded."
"Did they get it off the beach?"
"Yes. They're checking for damage now, to make sure there aren't any big leaks. When you go on the ground like that the prop shaft can damage the hull where it passes through. They'll get that under control, then tow the boat back."

The fog thins. Golden light softly bathes the beach north of me. The gaps come and go, giving glimpses of blue sky and then closing again.

"Hi, Larry."
I turn around. "Good morning, Bob."
"I won't be able to stay long. In addition to my wife's plans (today is his birthday, and while he'd just as soon keep it quiet, BJ has other ideas) I'm having blood drawn at St. John's. Yesterday it was at UCLA."
"I hope they leave some for you."
"I've heard that donating blood is good for you. Forces your body to make new red blood cells."
"I donate when I can, but the last time the bloodmobile was in downtown I had a sculpture scheduled for the next day, with a wedding to videotape the day after that."
"I've never noticed fatigue from donating blood."
"It's not bad, but I do notice it. And I suspected I'd need everything I had. I was right."
"What can I do here?"
"Let me get this last bit of sand out, and you can go get another load."
"How much?"
"As much as you want to haul." He takes off with the cart.

We work and chat until it's time for him to go.
"Give me more advance notice and we can make better plans."
"This sculpture surprised me too. In September things will be more predictable. Thanks for your help."
He walks away into the silver-glowing morning. I continue packing.

"What are you doing?"
"Making a sand sculpture." She's wrapped up against the damp air.
"Really? How do you do it?"
"After I fill this form, I'll carve it. If you really want to learn how, I can teach you."
"I would, but I'll be going back to New York. I'll be back here in December."
"I'll still be doing sculpture then. Where in New York?"
"The northern part, what they call the Borscht Belt."
"What's that?"
"A Jewish community."
"I asked because my friend Larry does sculpture on Far Rockaway beach."
"Where's that?"
I draw maps in the air. "At the end of Long Island."
"Maybe I can get down there."
"He's probably done his last sculpture there. He's coming out here sometime soon. A hard decision for him: leaving his family to do sand sculpture. He has Shabbat dinner with them frequently."
"I'm not Jewish, but I like living in their communities. I lived for a time on Fairfax."
"There's also a community here."
"I'll contact you when I get back. I'm Jody."
"I'm Larry." We shake hands and hers goes away sandy. She walks away northward.

2. Elements

In the old days I was satisfied if the sculpture, whatever its shape, was still standing at the end of the day. Now I want more: interesting parts that make an even more interesting whole.

Usually I define a sculptural element as an imaginary surface containing the various smaller elements. A sculpture Larry Dudock made a few years ago suggested something else: a broad surface with one shaped hole in it. The ratio of sand to space seemed to be the key as I experimented with this.

Today's sculpture is intended to balance simplicity and complexity. A broad band separates two rounded forms that I hope will look rounded even after I cut holes into them. The upper one's shell will be as thin as I can make it, and the space should glow nicely in afternoon light. The lower one is more of a problem; much weight will be on it. We'll solve that problem when we get to it.

I videotape the sculpture after the upper half is carved to its outward shape. I like it. Will holes actually improve the piece? I hope so, because if not I'm finished much too early.

3. Hollow

Larry and I talked about his most recent sculpture the night before. "Someone made the comment that 'First, you get good. Then you get fast. Then, you get good and fast.' I'm not there yet." He was on the beach for about 14 hours. Tools are, I believe, one reason. When the time comes to seriously move sand there's no reason to let it take a long time. Make a tool to speed up the process.

This is much like making a balloon by carving out material with a tool passing through the neck. The space opens rapidly, to a point. Straight ahead is easy, to the sides becomes more and more difficult; I knew I should have made that crook-neck loop tool. When the space becomes big enough, I move to the other side and drill a guide hole.

I'd intended to perforate the entire surface of the ball, but walking around the piece convinces me that I need to leave the southern aspect solid. The guide hole is placed off to the left and will become the center of a simple starburst design. I wanted more but for this first effort I'll keep it easy and strong. Yes, I like this well enough to try it again.

The guide hole goes through, showing me how much sand remains in the shell. I go back to the other side and dig deeper into the hollow. Soon it becomes time to think about the rest of the bulb's design.

The key here will be to leave enough sand between the holes so that the round shape remains. With the Steel Pinky I rough in the shapes. I'm not entirely happy with them but didn't spend enough time thinking about this to come up with better ideas quickly enough. When I add more slits between the first ones, extending downward, the holes' design becomes more interesting.

Then I return to the hollow. The sides are a problem. I don't have the angle to get the Bigger Loop in there. Reaching through one of the frontal slots with the Steel Finger just doesn't work well; I have to maneuver the tool through one hole while watching through another. Don't try this with bad sand. Then I remember the Shaver Tool.

4. Solid

A solved problem is boring. You've just turned experiment into production and that is a matter better left to bean-counters. We need the latter but I'm not one of them. I'm drawn to the edges. If the technical problems are under control what will come to replace them in making sculpture an interesting process?

What really happens is an ongoing dance. Technical skills improved and make new designs possible. That process feeds back a demand for even better technical skills, or a new tool, or quicker work to make more design possible. Incremental progress in all of these aspects of sculpture produce a changing judgement of the state of the art.

Line, shadow, balance, space, surface, color. Engineering makes these possible.
"is that just sand?"
"Yes. Very carefully packed."
"That's amazing."
Passersby don't often see sand standing on end four and a half feet tall. More and more I'm thinking about how what each move I make will do to the complete sculpture. As with video editing, just because I can do it doesn't mean I should do it.

I carefully cut and trim the sculpture's lower section around three-quarters of its circumference. The result is a round shape that balances the one near the top. It looks good as is. No holes. Rich probably feels the reverberation of this decision in Maine, where he and Lorna are. It really does look good. The round forms lead the eye around the sculpture, wondering what's over there. More curve. More curve. Finally it ends against a slot and a slanting rib.

5. Wrap

Larry takes turkey sandwiches with him to the beach. He's always amazed that I can work on, basically, bread and water, but his solution would stop me like a brick wall. Beach food has to provide calories while not requiring too much work to process.

When Mauricio, one day at lunch, gave me a Zone bar to sample I at first demurred. I've tried some of these things and they usually taste bad and feel worse. Rather like sweetened tar the color of what comes out of a baby after you've fed it.
"No, these are pretty good. Try it."
I broke off a chunk.
"You're right." While chewing I looked at the ingredients. Might be healthy at that. On my way home from work I stopped at Trader Joe's and, instead of buying my usual Force Primeval Bars, I bought Zone bars to eat today. The only real problem with them is their cloying sweetness.

Most of the sculpture looks good as is but some parts are still rough. i work around with brush and trimming tools until all is clean, and then I sign it.

It stands on the beach, solitary under the racing wind-driven fog. Sunlight comes and goes, wrapping vapor around the sculpture's curving surfaces. Simple, but hiding within its simplicity some hints of complexity, and providing surprises for those who are willing to walk all the way around.

I do so with the small camera. Still haven't remembered to buy batteries for the LX with its more versatile lens. Then I do the video work. The tape jams with the job nearly complete, only a few more stills and a closing atmosphere shot missing. Good enough.

I walk around it one more time. It's good.

"Larry, you need a Sherpa."
"Yah. You know any volunteers, Dave?" Such as a big, strong lifeguard. "Nope. Not around here."
I drag the load, split between trailer and sand cart, the rest of the way to my bike. Under a nearby palm tree is a video team working with two people who are recording some lines in a much overly affected British accent. Over and over. That's glamor, all right. No thanks. Not only am I not an ox, I'm not a bean-counter.

The ride home is slow but I make it without hitting anything. George comes by and we sit on the porch, reviewing the video.
"I like it. Maybe your best ever. Don't tell Rich I said that."
"All right." We'll leave it to surprise him the next time.

Written August 10
HTML conversion August 18