Skipping Over the Hard Stuff

Thanks for stopping by. The WFB is my 'whatever I happen to be in to at the moment' corner of the web. I have two other Blogger sites which are far more interesting.

The Lost Canyon Project is the chronicle of my work photographing and cataloging the life's work of my late friend, artist Pete Hampton (1940-2018)

The Lost Era Transcripts is the fruit of the Lost Canyon Project. It is a re-creation in book form of Pete's unfinished master work, The Lost Era. This is a good candidate for the finest work I have ever done.

The most mysterious Skinamalink

So, it's Monday again. I haven't even looked at the morning tour of internet bookmarks. What do you want to bet that it's still all bad news and bullshit? Imagine that.

I've taken to posting every Monday morning, the same way I did when I was at work on The Lost Canyon Project. That means, of course, that the stuff I'm posting happened a week ago. The shitstorm of current events makes "a week ago" sound almost nostalgic, like a blast from the past.

I've spent the week drifting back and forth from the work table to the computer. I've been going through the bookmarks, reading blog posts, and comments. The mood across the boards runs from outrage, and anger, to cynicism, resignation, and despair. Even the faith based writers, most of whom are Catholic, seem resigned to placing Hope outside the boundaries of the time we have remaining to us. I sometimes drop a note over at American Digest, or some other blog from the dozens on the list. There are times when I want to just dump all the rage into one huge shit flinging temper tantrum, and curse all the bastards to death and hell. But more and more, I find I have less and less that I want to say. Everyone else is already saying it, anyway.

I just now tossed out a whole bunch of stuff that I wrote last week. All of it has been said.

Right now, about the only thing I have to offer is the progress on these stone projects. It isn't as interesting as the collapse of Western Civilization, but it isn't particularly stress inducing either. The newness of being back to work has worn off, replaced by the comfort of keeping to a daily routine. Now, I don't feel an urgent need to chart and record my progress everyday. I've been slack about taking pictures as well.

Last week I jumped the gun, and posted on Saturday, the 21st right before getting to work on the party stuff. So, let's jump back nine days ago, when the world and all of us were young and beautiful. This was the day of our summer party, and birthday thang.

Our circle of friends takes in about a dozen people, and they all came over for the party. I did the two kettle BBQ act with mezquite wood charcoal, and big load of chicken thighs. It's easier to spread the meat on two grills than it is to crowd too much on one. Besides, doing two kettles looks all cool like you're a total pro, and stuff.

One of Mary's friends (the woke one) showed up wearing a black face mask. She sat at the table in the gazebo with Mary and a couple other gals. I walked over, and told her to take it off. She said, "No." Wouldn't take it off.

My temper spiked.

So, I walked away for a moment, and took a deep breath. But I returned to the table, and told her, very firmly: "Nobody is sick here. You take off the mask, or leave. Right now. No third option."

She complied with the mandate.

And the gathering was a success. We don't do background music at our parties. All us ol' bastards are so hard of hearing that we can't keep up a conversation when the radio is on, anyway. Parties are for eating, drinking, smoking, talk, and laughter.

But Holly brought her guitar. My old pal Jeff brought a list of songs. Bill showed up with his guitar. Mick, whom we haven't seen for years, came over, too, and he played as well.

Holly is brilliant. She's both singer, and song writer. She played a couple of her original pieces, and astonished everyone. I'm not kidding, I got all misty.

Ol' Jeff did a few traditional numbers for us. He likes the big band sound, and singers like Sinatra, or Bobby Darin. Those aren't guitar songs, but Jeff pulled them off quite well. He sang, "That's Life", and knocked it out of the park.

And then...

I like to sing, but only when no one's lookin'. I know the words to zillions of songs, and I sing them when I'm alone on the bike path, or driving. I used to keep myself entertained working the night shift, alone. I never really sang in front of anyone.

Until Saturday night. Holly, and Mick were just poking around with old melodies, and Mick started playing "I'll Never Find Another You", by The Seekers. It's one of my all-time favorites, and it's my very special song for Mary and me. I had thought I'd like to sing it for her, one day, but, you know...

Next thing I knew I was singing it for her, right there in front of everyone. It was that kind of an evening.

...

Monday morning, 8/23, I got back to work on the gray stone. I didn't get far. I mentioned that I wasn't entirely sure that this piece was, indeed, soapstone. It is very hard, and the crunch didn't feel quite right when I cut it with a tool. The dust wasn't slippery like talc.

It wasn't easy to get the wedge shaped chunk secured on the table, and I spent the better part of the morning sawing away, trying to get the base cut. Hack saw, bow saw, masonry saw: nothing was making much progress. Two hours of hacking away, and I was barely an inch into the stone. Uh-oh. This was just like the anhydrite. I wasn't getting anywhere.

So, I stopped, went into the garage, and got out a chunk of marble. I tested both the marble, and the gray stone with a chisel, then tested one stone against the other. Whatever the gray stuff is, it's harder than the marble, and it doesn't feel like soapstone under the the tool. Then I remembered the pipe I made from this gray stuff a long time ago. The best I could do was to come up with a very simple shape. I seem to remember burning up a drill bit, too.

So I looked up soapstone on line. The hardness of soapstone depends on the talc content. Talc equals soft. Low talc content soapstone is called steatite, which can be harder than marble. What I have is probably a chunk of steatite. Without power tools, that means a very long, very slow project, and serious wear on the very expensive tool kit. I'd love to do the fender bomb shape, but not as a six-month project. Hmmm...

So here's where my old pal Carp makes his appearance, and as Julie noted a while back: Carp is asshoe. Carp always says shit like: "You're gonna' chicken out, 'cuz it was a hard project, not a hard stone. The real guys would go for it. You're just too lazy. And, of course, "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

(Tue.8/24)

But I'm too old, and too cranky to take Carp seriously. (Well, maybe a little.) I'll do the fender bomb later, with some other stone. In the mean time I went ahead and got started on this.

It's the last big piece of rock that I have.

I'm pretty sure this chunk came from the same bed as the last one did. It has the same clear surface layer, and the same peach colored streaks. And, like the last stone, it may be irregular in hardness and texture. We'll see. The best alabasters of any color have a ring to them if tapped. The chalkier stuff has a thud. I'll have a better idea once I've shaved off the oxidized outer stone. Depending on the material I'll probably take a similar approach to this one as I did to the last one. I'll start with the shapes in the stone, and work out the design at it develops. That's a fancy way of saying, "Make it up as I go along again." Nonetheless, this will be a pretty piece of rock when it's all carved.

(thu, 8/26)

By the end of the day yesterday I wasn't happy with the start I'd made on this stone. There were two points of balance that looked good, and I went with the one that seemed to present me with the best opportunity to maximize the surface area, and bring out the colors in the material. I was thinking of a bowl-like form. But that left too much mass leaned out too far from the base. Remove material in the wrong place and the whole thing could become tippy, and off balance.

Now, I know that a lot of sculptors like to work the whole stone. They do fully rounded pieces mounted all balanced up on tip toe, and fastened to a base with a pin. Something in me says, "no". Stone doesn't fly. It's supposed to sit with its roots in the earth, not hang suspended in the air. This is just how I see it. Others think otherwise, and they're right, too.

So today's session is going to start with re-cutting the base a little. The figure may reach up, but first it has to be grounded in the earth.

(fri, 8/27)

We've had a fairly cool summer up until now. But September is dropping in fast, and September always brings the heat. So it was, yesterday. Hot, and dry.

I got a new base line scribed around the bottom, strapped the rock down to the table and stared in with the bow saw. Unfortunately, trying to cut through the harder stones left the blade all dull. I was a sweaty, dusty mess in no time. Do I want go out to the hardware store and buy a couple new blades? No. So push on with the dull saw.

It took a couple hours to saw through the base, and a couple more hours dragging the stone across the sanding board to get the cut perfectly flat. It was a good decision to do so. The rock sits solid on the table. The material is firm, slightly translucent, milky white, with gold clouds running through. It has some ring to it when put it to the tool. I can have some fun with this one. So today will begin with the part where nothing happens. Part of the job is just staring at the stone.

(sat,8/28)

So here's the plan.

(Sun, 8/29)

Sunday was take-in day for the September show at the Art Association. The big white stone, and the color stone are newly finished, and ready to go on display. They're both staying put.

If I wanted to display the stones, and enter into the juried show I'd have to go down to the gallery and put up with their mask bullshit. When I entered the last show, the state-wide mandate had just been lifted. Even so, I had to assertively refuse to wear the rag. Now, there's a county order.

So I was faced with two questions. First: Do I submit to being masked, or aggressively refuse, and stir up some shit?

And that raised the second question: How important is it to put my work on display?

The first question was just a matter of temperament, and I'm just enough of an asshole to enjoy being a jerk about things. But, my wife is on the board of directors. If it were just for my sake alone, I wouldn't care all that much. I do care about Mary, though. I don't want to cultivate a reputation for being a jerk with these folks.

The second question raises other issues.

I've written more than once about fending off the darkness by creating a little beauty in the world. Yet once I finish a stone I get the dragon sickness, and want to hoard it here in my private stash. It's like these are hard-to-get collectibles, and I'm the only guy I can get them from. Sorta' like Gollum, and the precious, I guess. I worked hard to complete there carvings. Should I not, at least, look forward to putting them on public display for a month?

I'm strangely indifferent. It could be a symptom of the Bleakness creeping in. (Carp says I'm being an asshole.) So I talked it over with Mary. She reminded me that there was only one man on the board who works hanging the shows, and he wouldn't be there. None of the women would be able to hoist up a sixty pound chunk of rock, and lug it around. One slip, and that carving would break like a pot.

There will be other shows.

I did not want to work Sunday, but I got restless, and started refining the sketch on the stone.

The most helpfullest Skinamalink hopped up to give me some pointers.