Sagadahoc Stories 121: 11/10/00
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Playing Catchup
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When you wear too many hats it gets hard to find your head. I've
been scuttling from one medium to another all fall, and now winter
is almost upon us. Better dig out the cap with earflaps, and fire
up the shop.
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| It's been a glorious fall. One lingering mildness after another.
The passing chills have been a bit cooler each time, but the air
is still a caress at mid-day, when the sun is out. Birds flocked
and flew, and the trees shook off their colors. Ducks were scare
opening day in October, but the second season hunters have been
in the thick of them this month. Either the ducks are getting
smarter, or hanging out later on their northern grounds. Brisk
sails in the fall gusty have jumped-up the view with ducks. |
Hay Tractor
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Hard Core Sailor
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Yarting gnawed down to a hard core, then spat out the seeds. Too
cold to do watercolors on the Bay, we are reduced to hardcore
windchasing. And the winds more north than south. The SaraAnne,
the BethAlison, and the Millennium Toad, are the only craft still
afloat, and their bilges full of leaves.
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| Now it's dayglow days, with pickups and gunracks, and the landscape
peers through the bare branches. It cools off fast as the sun
ducks down, and the last ruddy shakings of river oaks rust the
twilight. Running up the Cathance in a sunset stillness there's
an eerie sense of anticipation. Perfect clarity of light and the
smell of fallen leaves. Deer are on the move by night, phantoming
across the roads with luminous eyes. Chainsaws snarl in the afternoon. |
Fall sailing
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Heading to Chops
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I've been snarled up in a yarn or two myself. The hazard of spinning
out creative ideas is you can end up like a kitten in the knitting.
I've been turning the local drawings into notecards, which has
led to a flurry of card commissions, and I've been reminded that
attempting volume retail ultimately blinkers the creative vision.
Walking that highwire between inspiration and capitalization.
Likewise the carvings. I've had some dandy sculpture requests,
and found the making of them satisfying, but my shop time gets
swallowed by old promises, and the new work doesn't get begun.
After a season or two the impetus to take new leaps starts to
itch, wicked. |
Then there are moments when all the threads weave together and
new synergies emerge. The hard-edged landscape drawings have jig-sawed
the scenery for me, and it was inevitable they'd find a way into
the woodwork. A request to portray a preservationist climbing
his mountain was the pivotal piece. The design dialogue was fun.
I saw a vague image of one of those Renaissance backgrounds, like
the serpentine riverscape behind Mona Lisa, seen from a mountain
ledge, and I had the urge to mix up 2D and 3D: illusions in relief
with carving in the round.
| The caricaturing and articulation of this climber was a familiar
ritual, and his handheld homunculus had the old voodoo magic,
but the rolling hills and mountains of the wallscape were a new
leap. I was delighted with the effect of wavy birch for the foreground
grassland, sycamore for the oak and madrone dotted hills, and
the two-tone apple for the mountains. I began to realize how I
could construct the American mythscape I've been muttering over
since our American Sabbatical. |
Mountainscape
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I'd anticipated finishing the preservationist landscape bright,
in epoxy and varnish, like the architectural pieces in Bunganuc.
They were coated to protect them against the weather, and the
heavy West System application doubled as a resolution to the tedious
toxicity of sanding out gluing slop on big puzzle pieces. Simply
spread the glue over everything. I've always epoxied the composition
carvings together to perfect the illusion, and insure durability,
and carried the technique into the larger relief pieces. Covering
all with epoxy made sense in an outdoor installation, which would
need as much protection as possible. But I've always sanded clean
the joinery in the smaller work, to a fine clear line which disappears
when the naked wood takes on rubbed oil and wax. I've strived
for a tactile object.. touch being the essence of "toy." But how
was I going to deal with this preservationist landscape, where
the glue-up would be considerable and sloppy? Should I go for
the gloss, or reach for tactility? The toxicity of shopwork has
been bothering me more and more of late, and I was quandried.
On the Edge
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I decided to screw-fasten this puzzle to the backing signboard
so I wouldn't have to jiggle the pieces during glue-up. When all
the bits were back-fastened, I stood the illusion up, and EUREKA.
The beveled gaps between the pieces were perfect lineations. The
analog of my ink frame drawings. It looked like a Bryce drawing!
And no epoxy! I put the oil to her. Voila.
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I'd been putting the oil to Ebba, too. This classy old truck is
sure easy on the eyes, but increasingly hard on the conscience.
Burning 40 weight and smoking up the dooryard. When you pull her
plugs they're black and gunky, and one is running wet with oil.
So it looked like rebuild time. Then I had the ding that Piano
Bob put in her fender tunked out and repainted at Sean's bodyshop,
and discovered worse news. I asked Sean to guesstimate what it
would take to keep her good looks. He pointed out where the paint
was bubbling off the bondo, where patches were failing, forced
me to see behind her makeup and mascara. Not a pretty sight. He
estimated $8000 of body work to make her right. I could certainly
touch-up and keep her going, but: "I'd sell her while she still
has her looks," Sean recommended. Heartbreak.
So much for that fantasy. Cruise around in a vintage vehic, make
classy arrivals, beat off adoring women with a stick. More like
having an affair with an old hooker. Too much time in awkward
positions, and ending up soiled. The only way to keep an old truck
alive is to get your hands greasy, and auto mechanics has lost
its joy for me. Damn. Am I going to have to admit I can't do it
all any more? I backed Ebba up onto the front lawn with a sign
on, and sold her quick to a collector. Put my wrenches in the
shed. Took off the mechanic's cap.
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Being Cool
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Time to pull in my horns, anyhow. Winter is closing in. The inner
season. I'm trying to clear my slate so I can make new departures
in the New Year. Haul and cover the TOAD. Finish the commission
carvings. Do the last of the promised cards and drawings. Disengage
from the outer noise. Make more music and chase the muse.
Landscaping Tool
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Since August I've been editing and posting the dispatches from
our American Sabbatical on a daily basis (one reason why this chronicle has languished).
Going through all the images we collected on that odyssey, and
putting them into web pages, has reinspired me to envision the
American Mythscape. When we set off in 1996 my intention had been
to look for mythic images out of our history and in the land.
To come home and carve America. But the roadtrip had its own dynamic.
It plugged us into the digital revolution, and taught me the drawing
ritual. Those media have reoriented my creative perspective, and
I've been playing with those tools ever since.
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| I think I'm ready to digest all the material gathered on the road,
and turn it into carvings, and I'm determined to cut myself some
time to do it. But saying NO to paying customers, and friends,
ain't easy. And this local artist thing is a web of mutuality,
so you can't just hole up and be urban. There are too many ongoing
conversations to be mute. But you can change the cadence. Find
more silences. |
Sunset Treeline
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Sands Rainbow
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The runup to this millennium election has been cacophonous, and
the din has set us all on edge, I think. We're so bombarded with
cultural noise it's hard to hear ourselves think. There are manners
of remove. Immersion in landscape drawing, sliding along the wind,
the intense concentration of figure studies, blowing variations
on a tune, splitting wood.. all bring you back to center. And,
now the shouting is over, I'm ready to stoke the fire and stir
the American mythos. |
