A Narrowing Path

 

Another week in the dust mine. First off, thanks to Julie, John V, Troy, and the few others who drop by the blog. It's one of the weird things about keeping a web log. On the one hand, everything I do here, I do alone, in the privacy of my home. I'm dumping my thoughts here in the den, in much the same  way I used to do thirty years ago, with a ball point pen and a spiral notebook. Only now the 'pen and notebook' is a machine beyond my comprehension, and it's easy to forget that the thoughts I'm dumping  from the "privacy" of  my den are broadcast (if I am to believe the stats) to every country on the planet.

So I'm always a little startled when  I find out someone actually reads these posts.

 

(Monday, May 31)

The hard stuff I talked about last week is coming up. The loop at the top of the figure has to pass through the bowl right below it. That's going to mean tunneling through one end of the bowl or the other. But I don't want to drill a gaping hole in the bottom of the bowl, either. That means scratching through, bit by bit. There's a lot of excavation to do, both in the mid-section, and the bottom as well.

But that's for tomorrow. Today is Memorial Day. The work area is cleaned up, and the tools are put away. We're having our friends over for food, drink, and buzz. Parties, here, are a regular thing. I'm kinda' looking forward to it. I've been playing hermit for a while, and it'll be good to socialize. I guess.

 Truth to tell, I'd rather just work. We don't have TV here. I pay no attention to news and current events anymore. I read a lot on line, but it's all religion, and commentary. No one I know does this. If they're on-line at all, it's either yoo-toob, or social media. The result of this is that I find I don't have much to say. Current events just get me pissed. I don't like to talk about myself, and there's only so much I can say about hanging out in the back yard.

(June 1, Tuesday)

And now it's June already. Yesterday went well. But a party is a lot of work, and a huge expenditure of energy. The day after is always slow going, but that's usually tempered with the afterglow you get from having had a good time. But today started out flat, dull, and oddly bleak. 

We started doing these gatherings last spring in defiance of the lockdowns. Mary and I like to entertain, and we're good at it. We have always hosted the Thanksgiving, and Christmas gatherings for our friends. Our backyard barbecues have been the only social life that most of them have had during the last year. But beginning of summer, and party notwithstanding, Memorial Day isn't exactly a whoop-it-up occasion. And, like I said, hosting a party is a lot of work.

(June 3)

The end of yesterday's session left me unsure, and discontented with where this thing is going. 

 

 

The shape is an idea that exists in my head. Getting to that shape is a journey. But just like a any other journey, you can't anticipate everything that comes up between the moment when you leave, and the moment when you arrive. And the view of a thing changes as you get closer as well.  Alternative routes pop up. Maybe the destination itself will change. Every choice made eliminates the possibility of making some other choice.

(Friday, 6/4/21)

I'll take pictures when I get out to the table later on this morning. Once again, yesterday's session ended with me feeling all kinds of discontented about the project. I go back and forth. One minute it looks fine. Coming out great. Just what I was planning. I'll get a ribbon at the county fair for sure! I look again, and it's all gone to hell. The front view is the worst. WTF was I thinking?

 

But then, no. It's gonna' work. I'm just telling myself scary stories, and believing them. But the doubts are real. The gut drop at the thought of failure is for real, too. I really, really, don't want to screw this up. The project is important.

Why? Because I say so? Do I have a power to determine what is important, and what is trivial? Does the fact that I've invested a lot of hours and effort make the effort and time worthwhile? How is carving this rock any different from piling up dirt in a vacant lot? What changes; what's the difference if this thing comes out great, or comes out ridiculous? 

Do I hope to sell this thing for a bunch of money? no.  

Am I looking forward to putting it on display? .........eh

  Once it's done will I want to part with it?     probably not. 

 
So why do it at all? 

This is one of those rhetorical questions that generates all kinds of glib, and saccharine answers. Can you simultaneously believe that the creative impulse is a blessing from your guardian angels, that you're channeling a little spark of the divine, and then roll your eyes, say, "Oh, please. Leave that horseshit for the wine and cheese ladies, I got stuff to do here."?

I've had this notion that when the extra terrestrial archeologists arrive they'll conclude that the thing that humans valued most was dust. Why else would they create such elaborate items to gather it?

(Later)

Such were my musings at the beginning of the day. Once I'd had enough coffee to simulate consciousness I got off the futon, and adjusted my brain for the real world. I can dismiss all this stuff. Yeah. The work means something because I decide that it does. End of story.  Otherwise, I'm waiting for permission. And from whom?

(Sunday, 6/6/21)

 Saturday morning, my hands were stiff, my thumb was cracked, and I was altogether unsure of what I was doing or where I was going. If I go back to the 'project-as-trip' analogy, I felt like I was driving in the fog. So I let the tools sit, cleaned all the lines off the rock, sharpened up the pencils, and started sketching again. Draw, re-draw... OK. I haven't ruined this thing...

But there is more to life than stone. The rock will survive. I got my 1961 Schwinn  Mark IV Jaguar out of the garage, and  got 'er all cleaned up for the Cyclone Coaster ride in Long Beach.

This Sunday marks eleven years that I and Mary have been doing this event, but Mary seldom rides anymore. Cyclone Coaster is also where our bike club started. The RatRod Riders are now an old-school part of the monthly antique and classic gathering.

And getting out of the back yard, away from the stone, and into the real world was just what I needed.

So I got to hang out with the gang, and water my roots in the bicycle scene as well. Not to mention getting in a tougher workout than I had planned. I haven't been riding much lately, Long Beach was cold and windy, and that heavy metal cruiser weighs a few pounds.

Sometimes it takes just a very small break to clear out the head and re-align the perspective. I got back from  Long Beach just as Mary was pouring some fresh coffee. I got the bike put up, and nuked up a burrito in the microwave. After eating, I poured a cup. Buddy the Cat, and The Skinamalink  followed me out to the gazebo.

It felt good to have had some exercise. I was back home, off the road, and well-fed. The cats are always good company. The afternoon clear and cool.

 Coffee.

 Two bowls of Sour Diesel.

Now let's look at the rock.  Get out the steel wool and sandpaper. Clean up all the sketchy, sloppy, artsy looking lines. Bit by bit it's coming along.

 

JWM