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San Pedro Calling
Twice a year the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium has a "Sea Fair." One of the many
events is a sand sculpture contest, and in 2001 I did a demonstration
sculpture for them. It was a nice event, low-key, real people, most of them
having fun. Especially the treasure hunt, which leads people to the beach.
I could learn from them; if I want people to help with sand sculpture I
should tell them there's a treasure buried in the sand, then stand back and
watch it fly.
It's my kind of event. When they call in August my answer is quick,
although the sand isn't the best and the venue is noisy with workboats and
other things.
My main question, as the time approaches, is what kind of sculpture to
make. One big pile? One small pile? A multiple? Well, never immediately
decide anything that can be put off.
One difference from last year is that I now know my Latchform will fit,
just barely, in the back seat of my car. If I take that, however, I can't
get the longer "big form" in. OK, we'll try a multiple. The smaller forms
just slip inside the Latchform and we're ready to go.
Build number: 02M-4 (lifetime start #249)
Title: "Three Proximal Sketches"
Date: October 20
Location: Cabrillo Beach, San Pedro, for Cabrillo Marine Aquarium
Start: 0815 formal, construction time 6 hours (approx 12 person-hours)
Height, Unit A: 3.3 ft (Latchform); Unit B: 2.3 ft (Short form); Unit C: 2
ft (trash can)
Base: A, 1.75 feet nominal; B, 1.6 feet; C, 1.5 feet. All placed on raised
base approx 5' X 8'
Helpers: Piling by four or five Sea Fair volunteers
Digital Images: 48, with Canon Powershot G2
Photo 35mm: none
Photo 6X7: none
Photo volunteer: Larry Dudock, w/ Canon Rebel and Powershot
Video motion: none
Video still: none
Video volunteer: Larry Dudock, w/ Elura (20 min) and XL1 (approx 90 min)
New Equipment: Canon Powershot G2, first use for its intended purpose
1. The Limits of Memory
The old car and its older driver cruise along under low clouds. My
equipment rattles much as it does when it's in the bicycle trailer but
cornering elicits a nasty grinding noise. Old cars and I immediately start
to worry, but quickly realize it's just the noise plastic makes when
sliding over sandy plastic as the forms shift.
I was here last year. That was a long time ago, but I remember being on
Harbor Boulevard. The brigantines are gone, the construction area now
empty. I wonder if they're sailing yet. I wander along streets, sort of
smelling my way to the aquarium.
When I get to the gate I wonder if anyone knows I'm coming; I've not heard
from them since August. The gate man waves me through after I give him my
name. Now it's simple: just make a sculpture.
Yes, but where? I walk the beach and seem to remember where I built last
year. I get some helpers from the information booth and we go to work. I
tried again to find a way to carry the sand cart here on the top of my car,
but the car has no place to attach rope or bungee cords. We end up simply
carrying all of my equipment to the chosen spot.
2. E Pluribus Unum? How?
What unites the movements of a symphony? I've done enough multiple
sculptures to have learned that the connections between units are subtle
and complex.
Any multiple sculpture is made of vertical units and the ground upon which
they stand. Similarity of the vertical units is an obvious relating
technique, and this is what I used on my first one, for the World
Championships. It worked fairly well, but what's beyond the obvious?
The ideal is to have units that pull away from each other but still are
joined by something. What is that something? What turns a collection of
loose parts into one thing? When making 02M-2, I used the units' overall
shapes, and some of the carved elements, to relate them to each other; the
ground was nearly incidental. This worked well. In M-3 the ground was more
important.
For this piece I've decided to use the help to try a more dramatic base.
Then I'll experiment with the vertical units. We start by piling and
wetting sand to make a mound that slopes downward toward the water. Unit A,
the trash can, goes nearly at beach level at the east end of the pile. Unit
B, the Short Form, is placed at the high point, with Unit C on a pad at the
west end. All three are close to each other. This is basic economics; it
takes a lot of sand to make that mound and we don't have all day. Besides,
when you don't know what you're doing, try something even if it's wrong.
3. Parallel Processing
I demonstrate to my helpers how to pack the sand into a form, starting with
the most difficult.
"This form is old and has been replaced in most uses. It's made from a
trash can, and was an experiment."
"Now you use that grey one?"
"Yes. I made that last year. I only use this for multiples."
We fill it. I do the tamping and they haul water. Gradually they take over
the whole process.
"Tamp vigorously. You need to feel it in your feet." We're not filtering
the sand so as to save time.
When the trash can is full I start them on the short form.
"OK. You're on your own now." I peel the trash can off and start to carve.
In the distance I notice the event planners setting up for the sand
sculpture contest. Way over there. Maybe they're planning for a big crowd
of entries. Maybe I placed myself in the wrong place, a worry reinforced by
a few waves that wash up close to the base of my sculpture. I forgot to
look at the tide chart, just as I forgot to ask someone where to make this
sculpture.
4. Serial Processing, with Comm Failures
"You're not going to do a finger test on that pile before you start
carving?"
"No. Finger testing is for those who don't know what they're doing. The
tools will tell me all I need to know. That, folks, is Larry Dudock, who
spends more time finger testing and smelling the pile than he does carving
it."
"Smelling the pile?"
"Yes," Larry says. "You have to smell it all over to make sure the sand is
good."
I have been thinking about a sculpture made of two elements leaning against
each other, with a wide space beneath in a sort of overlapping tunnel. I
take a few cuts on the small pile.
"Do you want me to get some process video while you work?"
"I don't care. I'm just trying to get a sculpture done." Larry goes to get
the camcorder.
"Do you mind if I ask you some questions while you work?"
I should think the answer to that one obvious. "I'd rather you didn't."
It's all I can do to keep track of some sort of design, and all these
questions feel like depth charges by a balsa submarine. They don't stop,
either, along with entirely unrelated comments. I'm beginning to learn why
it takes Larry so long to do his sculptures: he doesn't keep his mind on
the work. And he won't let me keep my mind on my work, and it takes work to
tune him out.
Multiples are complex. The last one had me wiped out for a day afterward. I
need my mind on my sculpture. Rich is a great helper, watching to see
what's going on and making comments only when I'm at a point where
distraction doesn't matter.
Lisa, the event organizer, walks up.
"Thank you for doing this, Larry."
"Oh, you're welcome, but I'm afraid I messed up on the location. I thought
the contest was over here last year."
"No. It's always over there. But you're fine. We'll put some banners here
to draw people."
I'm about to ask her about the Spring Sea Fair when Larry walks over and
introduces himself, regardless of the fact that she and I are talking.
After that I can't get a word in edgewise, so I go back to carving.
The first sculpture is shaping up nicely. Not what I started to make, as
usual, but it has a neat elegance. The kids are finished packing Unit B,
also unfiltered. It occurs to me that there's plenty of time for them to
filter the last one, so I show them how to do that. The concept doesn't
thrill them, but they go to work, in between sessions of chasing each
other.
"Don't break his tamper!" Two of them are tugging on it.
"Yes. It cost me all of about ten dollars. Very valuable." More valuable is
time. "Use that to tamp the sand, not to hit each other!" We all laugh and
they go back to work, for a few more minutes. I could have done it faster
alone, but today it's perfect. I carve, they pack, and when they're
finished I've also finished the first sculpture and can now start on the
second.
The kids wander off to various other tasks after I get a group photo.
"Thanks for your help." They carried water, filtered and tamped, all of it
while trying to keep themselves clean. They, unlike me, have been fairly
successful.
The last time I did a sculpture like this, I peeled all three piles at once
and then carved them together. They achieved an attractive unity. I can
only hope for that here as I take the first strokes on Unit B. This comes
after digging the support ring out of the sand; I forgot to tell my helpers
that the ring comes out when the form is half full. There's a first time
for everything.
Right from the start it's a different sculpture. Unit A is enclosed,
soft-edged, round. Unit B spreads toward the top, with edges as sharp as
this mediocre sand will hold and narrow slots. I like it. It turns out to
be one of the best I've ever made with the Short Form.
With that well established I decide to take a break.
"Mind the store, Larry. I'm going for lunch."
"Fine. When you come back I'll go."
I walk up to the office and claim a sandwich and accoutrements. There are
various exhibits up in the museum, including the man who makes model
engines. They all run on compressed air, some being accurate models of
historical engines. Others are flights of fancy, made just to have many
parts moving, with strange crossheads and levers. They're fascinating. I
don't know what they have to do with the sea, but they're also beautiful.
Maybe that's all the commonality they need. Out on the stage the Taiko
drummers are getting started. A flute starts the piece, and then a drummer
belts a slow beat. Others join in with stylized motions. It's quite a
performance, but I have a sculpture to finish.
It's afternoon by the time I get to the big piece. Because it's close to
Unit B I have a hard time working on the inside; naturally, it winds up
facing outward. It also turns out to be symmetric, the first I've done in
years. It suits my capabilities because symmetry is easy to design: make
half a sculpture and then copy it. I'm hoping its relative simplicity will
help balance the wild asymmetry of Unit B.
Throughout the construction announcements come from the information booth.
They must have hired this man for his enthusiasm. The Queen of the Sea
contest goes, then the Treasure Hunt, and then The Girls get on the stage
to play. Their harmonies float out over the beach, good music for carving.
"OK. That's going to have to be good. I've about had it." The symmetric
piece is still rough, with obvious bilateral differences, but it's still
better than the last one I did, some years back. There is still the base to
carve, the unseen fourth unit. It curves to a broad hump just east of Unit
B, and then slopes more sharply downward into a depression. Unit A is set
into a low spot on the south side, and Unit A is on an extension that
angles southwest. I cut, trim, throw away waste sand, and then brush
everything. The sheer amount of work involved in basal sculpture is why I
don't do it very often. This one will have to be good enough. I'm gone.
5. Three Family Members Searching For A Reason To Belong
I clean up the site and then spend a little time looking at what I've made.
Individually the pieces are good, better than anything I've done for a
previous multiple. Therein is the problem: three strong pieces that don't
belong with each other beyond just being in the same vicinity. The base is
also nice, but doesn't overcome the sculptures' oil-and-water lack of
union. I'm depressed. All that work and it fails.
That's the trouble with multiples. Lots more work, lots more chances to
fail. Larry and I load my stuff back into my car and I plop into the
driver's seat.
"I wish I had a taxi."
"Will you be OK?"
"I'll have to be. Just take it easy, with no quick movements."
I head out of the parking lot. Slowly, to avoid running into anyone. I make
it to the freeway by simply driving straight ahead until I see a sign.
Traffic is light, fortunately, and I can relax a bit.
Failure. Multiple. Union. Suddenly I realize that I've answered one of the
major questions. Will a strong base unite disparate sculptures? The answer
is new, and clear. No. Well, good enough. They were good sculptures,
though, weren't they? I smile and keep driving. All they had in common was
beauty.
Written October 21
Recovered November 5, from Mirjam, after I overwrote the original
Consruction and builder photos by Larry Dudock
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