A Short One: 05F-11
Sometimes I do short, experimental sculptures to test new ideas. That's what this was supposed to be but it sort of got out of control. The full report follows the images.
Enginarting
Memory and recall, history and repetition, learning and basic research. The whole thing has to be enjoyable enough or one just quits. Years accumulate, and expectations, squeezing the enjoyment into a sort of artistic coffin corner. As would any living creature, art fights back, fierceness increasing with pressure. Either it all blows up or new room is made.
Thinking in three dimensions. Perhaps dementia, but I am getting better. Still, there's an idea that keeps slipping out of my grasp as I try to carve. It's time to try again, to expand that artistic envelope with a pure engineering exercise. Two upright slabs of sand, each woven of strands and connected by springing arches. The problem is sticking with the plan and finding support.
Well, OK, the real problem is finding my brain. My friend Norm had mentioned in early summer an idea to come out from Colorado for a visit and to see a sculpture, but then I heard nothing more about it. My face-to-face social skills were unravelling anyway; I'd make a good recluse. And then there was the message on the phone: "This is Norm. I'm here."
Now what? I'd just received Myst 5. That was about the extent of the weekend's ambition, the morning low tide not being very low. Norm was planning to come out for lunch; we'd talk about it then. But lunch slipped.
I bagged the plans, fired up the Big Black Computer and headed for Germany. They're getting ready for Oktoberfest and I wanted to see if my avatar there still worked. The usual pick-up conversation in Tokotah came together in an interesting mix of German and English. Music crosses the boundaries, though. Naturally, the talk turned to beer.
Well, I had no plans. Had no idea if the traditional Killer Shrimp date with Debbie and Nate would happen. The future hasn't happened yet. One thing led to another. Beer knocks the edges off. J'Kla and his friends logged out, it being well past midnight there, and the next thing led to yet another. By the time plans crystallized the world was a pretty soft.
Social courage in liquid form. Norm and I ended up at Killer Shrimp, where Debbie had just gotten another glass of wine, which somehow became mine. She got another while Norm and I ate shrimp. After that we were over at their new condominium, sitting (this was a good thing) on the balcony among the flickery candles. This time the wine was Zinfandel. Or something. Norm and Nate--united by alliterative affinity?--were tete-a-tete in the kitchen. Deb and I talked about the Holy Spirit. We're both scared. Changes.
Then talk turned to plans.
"Sculpture tomorrow?"
"Well... I'm not..."
"You'd better!" Odd echo with Jeruth, even if I've never heard her voice.
And there comes a time when one little insignificant dust mote causes everything in its vicinity to condense into one thing. Water droplet, or crystalline water of exquisite beauty, the vapor knows not. It just happens. So, go build that test arch.
Build number: 05F-11 (lifetime start #309) filtered low tide sand
Title: none
Date: September 24
Location: Venice Breakwater, south side cusp
Start: 1000; construction time approx 4.5 hours
Height: 2.4 feet (Short Form); sokkel height about 3 inches
Base: 1.6 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: EOS-1D walkaround and wide-angle details
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, with Canon SD520 process and completion
Video: none
Equipment note: new small cosmetic brush, results inconclusive
1. Logic
I finally get home. Sometime. It's dark. Quiet. I drink lots of water, take a shower and crash. Boom. Except I can't sleep. Fitful, tossing around, inchoate imagery.
Dawn comes up more clear than I am. Start time is, oh, yeah, about then. Norm wants to ride a bike, but I have only one suited to beach duty. OK, he rides that. I'll walk. And pull the cart with the Lightweight Edition equipment. Seems logical, but a few gears are missing.
And not just gears. Halfway to the beach I realize I've left the shovel and tamper in the garage. Well, the Rectascreenus can be used as a tamper--I've tested this a few times, and it does work, if not optimally--and I have hands for digging. We'll make do. I'm not going back up that hill.
A cool breeze wafts over me, sun blocked by nice overcast. The Boardwalk is its usual thing and I walk rapidly. At the south end, police officers are setting up tents for a hiring expo. I didn't smell as much marijuana smoke as usual there. Thankfully I walk out onto the sand, leaving the activity behind.
Surfers, waves, sand. Many of the first because the waves are running big. And the sand, considering the height of the tide, is quite good. More or less at random I pick a work site and start. Close to the sand so I don't have to move it far.
Pick up sand and water, set up the form, fill it. Tamping with the PVC frame Rectascreenus causes a lot of turbulence that keeps the sand from settling, but I can feel it hit hard sand someplace. It's just the top inch or so that gets moved around. I hope. The languid tide eventually reaches the borrow pit but by that time I have enough sand to fill this small form.
2. Test
Historically I've used this form to test key ideas. Its design was an experiment that led to the Small Sculpture Revolution, and its size lends itself to testing just one or two ideas. It has been years, though, since I last used it this way.
In those years, I eventually realize, many things have changed. What was once complex is now simple, and I just can't stay with the plan.
For one thing, why do the same plan on both ends of the arch? On the east side I carve the surface from which the braided elements will be made, with the slots that will flank the arch's end. The other end, well, now, there's no real reason to do what I've already done, right? So I pull out another old idea for a hollow arch-end, splitting the west end and hollowing out underneath, like a dome. Yah, I know, it's no clearer to me, and it soon departed from even that plan. And all other plans. The Design Tiger just won't be restrained by something so tenuous as pedestrian engineering.
"How's the engineering exercise going?"
Crews change on the beach. For the last two years or so, police patrollers have been aloof, never stopping to chat. This man is different. He'd stopped earlier to ask what the day's project was.
"Well, that idea sort of got lost. What's coming out is more complicated."
"It looks good to me."
"And me," Rich says.
"It's certainly more than I expected."
3. Packing It In
The first time I used this form as a test for ideas, the resulting sculpture had about three elements. Subsequent pieces became more complex but were always considered the stepchildren of the family; even I am affected by the idea that bigger is better. Stumpy 30-inch sculptures aren't real. Since the last one, though, I've acquired more small tools, and the skill to use them. The reality today is that there is more sand here than I have the energy to carve.
The packing is respectable, too. Not as good as I'm used to but still consistent and better than many sculptures in years past. The only limitation today is my slow mind, and a desire to go home and go to bed.
"Where are the horizons?"
"Yes. They don't show up as usual."
"I think that's because of using the filter for tamping."
There are horizons, but they're not really horizontal. Nor are they prominent, and the pile has a nice silky touch, softer than I'm used to. Normal packing produces prominent layers that feel rippled under my fingers. The trade-off is that sharp edges and details break off more easily here, and it's harder to keep the pile damp.
Some microsculpture goes awry when I sort of lose track of where the openings go and the softer sand falls away, and the east arch end also ends up being changed when I tunnel through the wrong way. Happy accidents, or forced design elements. I work them out and go on.
More could be done, but it's time to quit before I make a big mistake. Looking at the sculpture as a whole, it's quite an amazing little thing. Never has so much been packed into a Short Form pile. By any standard it's a good sculpture. Perhaps not having a brain is a good thing.
I even have enough brain power to check the camera's settings. No more underexposed images. I walk around.
"Short sculptures. This kneeling is hard." It's more like dragging myself around. Knees creak and my back hurts. But isn't that a neat little sculpture. One step closer to tabletop sand sculpture.
We walk away. The last person I see on the beach is the LAPD officer.
"When will you be back?"
"Probably two weeks, but I might come out next Saturday when the tide is going down."
"Good. I'll look for you."
"OK. Have fun!"
He drives off.
"Nice guy."
"Yes."
"This is a good thing."
And it is nice, to be known in a good way.
4. Dance the Night Away
Norm and I walk north through the Boardwalk throng, halfway to Rose before I finally remember that there's a parallel alley. It's much nicer.
"That place is good to visit, about once every two years."
"Yes, but it has been more than two years for me."
He has a point.
Home at last. I rinse out the sprayer. Norm goes off to do other things. I have some dinner and then wash the sand off from top to bottom.
I'm early for Music Night, but no matter. I'll hang out and see who shows up.
Budgie is already there. I've no sooner materialized on the Ferry Landing than she says "I need dance music!!!! I need dance music!!!"
"Coming right up." I set up the channel.
"OK, you're on. Radio KTDN." It would seem I have something of a reputation here, too. Soon the two of us are tearing up Tokotah, blistering the bricks with hot avatar feet. I'd never dance in the real world, but here it's an experimental art form limited only by the number of fingers that will fit on the keyboard. Two on the arrow keys for turn and going forward and back, two more on the sidestep keys for lateral movement, and, in a new discovery, my pinky just reaches the space bar so I can add a jump to the moves. The result gets Budgie laughing and clapping.
"Do that again!"
"How did you get this carpal tunnel syndrome?" the doctor asks.
"Dancing."
Eventually I have switch to quieter music so we can take a break, but then Ghaelen links in and demands a demonstration. Lunasa goes on the air and none of us can sit still. Is it possible for three people to crash a shard? We tried. Music Night usually isn't this active.
Then Budgie has to leave. Atlantis9 comes in and we meet in another Age. Tehl joins us for some initial puns. Ghaelen had asked what we talk about and I had no ready answer, just that the evening passes too quickly.
Then a name I've not seen in too long pops up on my Buddies list.
"Jeruth! Nice to see you here!"
The five of us sit in a pentagon, leaves falling from the huge trees, clouds slowly flowing beyond the hard edge of the plaza in perpetual sunset. There are dancing interludes during some of the more active music, and the talk ranges all over.
The others watch my typing deteriorate and know pretty well when I've reached the limit.
"Very nice. Thank you for joining me here. Turn off the lights when you leave, please."
"Sleep nice."
I toddle off to the bedroom and collapse. It's almost tomorrow. A very nice way to end the day.
2005 September 25
Enginarting
Memory and recall, history and repetition, learning and basic research. The whole thing has to be enjoyable enough or one just quits. Years accumulate, and expectations, squeezing the enjoyment into a sort of artistic coffin corner. As would any living creature, art fights back, fierceness increasing with pressure. Either it all blows up or new room is made.
Thinking in three dimensions. Perhaps dementia, but I am getting better. Still, there's an idea that keeps slipping out of my grasp as I try to carve. It's time to try again, to expand that artistic envelope with a pure engineering exercise. Two upright slabs of sand, each woven of strands and connected by springing arches. The problem is sticking with the plan and finding support.
Well, OK, the real problem is finding my brain. My friend Norm had mentioned in early summer an idea to come out from Colorado for a visit and to see a sculpture, but then I heard nothing more about it. My face-to-face social skills were unravelling anyway; I'd make a good recluse. And then there was the message on the phone: "This is Norm. I'm here."
Now what? I'd just received Myst 5. That was about the extent of the weekend's ambition, the morning low tide not being very low. Norm was planning to come out for lunch; we'd talk about it then. But lunch slipped.
I bagged the plans, fired up the Big Black Computer and headed for Germany. They're getting ready for Oktoberfest and I wanted to see if my avatar there still worked. The usual pick-up conversation in Tokotah came together in an interesting mix of German and English. Music crosses the boundaries, though. Naturally, the talk turned to beer.
Well, I had no plans. Had no idea if the traditional Killer Shrimp date with Debbie and Nate would happen. The future hasn't happened yet. One thing led to another. Beer knocks the edges off. J'Kla and his friends logged out, it being well past midnight there, and the next thing led to yet another. By the time plans crystallized the world was a pretty soft.
Social courage in liquid form. Norm and I ended up at Killer Shrimp, where Debbie had just gotten another glass of wine, which somehow became mine. She got another while Norm and I ate shrimp. After that we were over at their new condominium, sitting (this was a good thing) on the balcony among the flickery candles. This time the wine was Zinfandel. Or something. Norm and Nate--united by alliterative affinity?--were tete-a-tete in the kitchen. Deb and I talked about the Holy Spirit. We're both scared. Changes.
Then talk turned to plans.
"Sculpture tomorrow?"
"Well... I'm not..."
"You'd better!" Odd echo with Jeruth, even if I've never heard her voice.
And there comes a time when one little insignificant dust mote causes everything in its vicinity to condense into one thing. Water droplet, or crystalline water of exquisite beauty, the vapor knows not. It just happens. So, go build that test arch.
Build number: 05F-11 (lifetime start #309) filtered low tide sand
Title: none
Date: September 24
Location: Venice Breakwater, south side cusp
Start: 1000; construction time approx 4.5 hours
Height: 2.4 feet (Short Form); sokkel height about 3 inches
Base: 1.6 feet nominal diameter
Assistant: none
Photo digital: EOS-1D walkaround and wide-angle details
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Rich, with Canon SD520 process and completion
Video: none
Equipment note: new small cosmetic brush, results inconclusive
1. Logic
I finally get home. Sometime. It's dark. Quiet. I drink lots of water, take a shower and crash. Boom. Except I can't sleep. Fitful, tossing around, inchoate imagery.
Dawn comes up more clear than I am. Start time is, oh, yeah, about then. Norm wants to ride a bike, but I have only one suited to beach duty. OK, he rides that. I'll walk. And pull the cart with the Lightweight Edition equipment. Seems logical, but a few gears are missing.
And not just gears. Halfway to the beach I realize I've left the shovel and tamper in the garage. Well, the Rectascreenus can be used as a tamper--I've tested this a few times, and it does work, if not optimally--and I have hands for digging. We'll make do. I'm not going back up that hill.
A cool breeze wafts over me, sun blocked by nice overcast. The Boardwalk is its usual thing and I walk rapidly. At the south end, police officers are setting up tents for a hiring expo. I didn't smell as much marijuana smoke as usual there. Thankfully I walk out onto the sand, leaving the activity behind.
Surfers, waves, sand. Many of the first because the waves are running big. And the sand, considering the height of the tide, is quite good. More or less at random I pick a work site and start. Close to the sand so I don't have to move it far.
Pick up sand and water, set up the form, fill it. Tamping with the PVC frame Rectascreenus causes a lot of turbulence that keeps the sand from settling, but I can feel it hit hard sand someplace. It's just the top inch or so that gets moved around. I hope. The languid tide eventually reaches the borrow pit but by that time I have enough sand to fill this small form.
2. Test
Historically I've used this form to test key ideas. Its design was an experiment that led to the Small Sculpture Revolution, and its size lends itself to testing just one or two ideas. It has been years, though, since I last used it this way.
In those years, I eventually realize, many things have changed. What was once complex is now simple, and I just can't stay with the plan.
For one thing, why do the same plan on both ends of the arch? On the east side I carve the surface from which the braided elements will be made, with the slots that will flank the arch's end. The other end, well, now, there's no real reason to do what I've already done, right? So I pull out another old idea for a hollow arch-end, splitting the west end and hollowing out underneath, like a dome. Yah, I know, it's no clearer to me, and it soon departed from even that plan. And all other plans. The Design Tiger just won't be restrained by something so tenuous as pedestrian engineering.
"How's the engineering exercise going?"
Crews change on the beach. For the last two years or so, police patrollers have been aloof, never stopping to chat. This man is different. He'd stopped earlier to ask what the day's project was.
"Well, that idea sort of got lost. What's coming out is more complicated."
"It looks good to me."
"And me," Rich says.
"It's certainly more than I expected."
3. Packing It In
The first time I used this form as a test for ideas, the resulting sculpture had about three elements. Subsequent pieces became more complex but were always considered the stepchildren of the family; even I am affected by the idea that bigger is better. Stumpy 30-inch sculptures aren't real. Since the last one, though, I've acquired more small tools, and the skill to use them. The reality today is that there is more sand here than I have the energy to carve.
The packing is respectable, too. Not as good as I'm used to but still consistent and better than many sculptures in years past. The only limitation today is my slow mind, and a desire to go home and go to bed.
"Where are the horizons?"
"Yes. They don't show up as usual."
"I think that's because of using the filter for tamping."
There are horizons, but they're not really horizontal. Nor are they prominent, and the pile has a nice silky touch, softer than I'm used to. Normal packing produces prominent layers that feel rippled under my fingers. The trade-off is that sharp edges and details break off more easily here, and it's harder to keep the pile damp.
Some microsculpture goes awry when I sort of lose track of where the openings go and the softer sand falls away, and the east arch end also ends up being changed when I tunnel through the wrong way. Happy accidents, or forced design elements. I work them out and go on.
More could be done, but it's time to quit before I make a big mistake. Looking at the sculpture as a whole, it's quite an amazing little thing. Never has so much been packed into a Short Form pile. By any standard it's a good sculpture. Perhaps not having a brain is a good thing.
I even have enough brain power to check the camera's settings. No more underexposed images. I walk around.
"Short sculptures. This kneeling is hard." It's more like dragging myself around. Knees creak and my back hurts. But isn't that a neat little sculpture. One step closer to tabletop sand sculpture.
We walk away. The last person I see on the beach is the LAPD officer.
"When will you be back?"
"Probably two weeks, but I might come out next Saturday when the tide is going down."
"Good. I'll look for you."
"OK. Have fun!"
He drives off.
"Nice guy."
"Yes."
"This is a good thing."
And it is nice, to be known in a good way.
4. Dance the Night Away
Norm and I walk north through the Boardwalk throng, halfway to Rose before I finally remember that there's a parallel alley. It's much nicer.
"That place is good to visit, about once every two years."
"Yes, but it has been more than two years for me."
He has a point.
Home at last. I rinse out the sprayer. Norm goes off to do other things. I have some dinner and then wash the sand off from top to bottom.
I'm early for Music Night, but no matter. I'll hang out and see who shows up.
Budgie is already there. I've no sooner materialized on the Ferry Landing than she says "I need dance music!!!! I need dance music!!!"
"Coming right up." I set up the channel.
"OK, you're on. Radio KTDN." It would seem I have something of a reputation here, too. Soon the two of us are tearing up Tokotah, blistering the bricks with hot avatar feet. I'd never dance in the real world, but here it's an experimental art form limited only by the number of fingers that will fit on the keyboard. Two on the arrow keys for turn and going forward and back, two more on the sidestep keys for lateral movement, and, in a new discovery, my pinky just reaches the space bar so I can add a jump to the moves. The result gets Budgie laughing and clapping.
"Do that again!"
"How did you get this carpal tunnel syndrome?" the doctor asks.
"Dancing."
Eventually I have switch to quieter music so we can take a break, but then Ghaelen links in and demands a demonstration. Lunasa goes on the air and none of us can sit still. Is it possible for three people to crash a shard? We tried. Music Night usually isn't this active.
Then Budgie has to leave. Atlantis9 comes in and we meet in another Age. Tehl joins us for some initial puns. Ghaelen had asked what we talk about and I had no ready answer, just that the evening passes too quickly.
Then a name I've not seen in too long pops up on my Buddies list.
"Jeruth! Nice to see you here!"
The five of us sit in a pentagon, leaves falling from the huge trees, clouds slowly flowing beyond the hard edge of the plaza in perpetual sunset. There are dancing interludes during some of the more active music, and the talk ranges all over.
The others watch my typing deteriorate and know pretty well when I've reached the limit.
"Very nice. Thank you for joining me here. Turn off the lights when you leave, please."
"Sleep nice."
I toddle off to the bedroom and collapse. It's almost tomorrow. A very nice way to end the day.
2005 September 25
# © 2005 by Larry @ 
