{ Category Archives: visceral inquiry }
Learning from Sand Patterns
A section of the texture I’ve been carving into my crane sculpture.
I’ve learned a lot from studying sand patterns at the beach over the past few months. I’m always astounded at how such beautiful formations result from the erosive interactions of just a handful of elements- the density of different sands, slope of the beach grade, the continual play of surf and drying effect of sunshine.
I try to apply these lessons as I texture the fared contours of my wooden crane sculpture for our Tsuru project, cutting parallel channels that follow the arc of the grain over compound curves. The process takes concentration but is easy going with my very sharp 1.5″ Japanese gouge. When the wooden form is finally cast in bronze, the ridges of my chisel marks will be slightly highlighted with burnishing and their line patterns will recall the feathers of a large soaring bird while remaining true to the inherent tautness of the mother material.
Beauty becomes intrinsic to a thing only when its pursuit is incidental to the process.
Scanning the Horizon
The first storms hit after the driest stretch of winter on record. Pounding surf and driving rain have obliterated the intricate sand patterns and frothy backlit lines of foam at my favorite beach, and I find myself scanning the horizon as I hike the shore, wary of sneaker waves but thrilled by the prospect. Projects typically slow down a notch during storms as our priorities shift to clearing gutters, tarping piles, stocking up on dry kindling, firewood and candles in anticipation of losing power. It’s a good time to take stock and put things in perspective, eyes on the horizon.
How to Stare Up at the Stars
1. Find a dark clear night.
2. Walk outside to a clearing.
3. Stand straight.
4. Tilt your head all the way back.
5. Open your eyes wide.
Fog Studies 3 (systems over routines)
When it comes to making things, I’m drawn to systems over routines. As a craftsman, my default system is tradition. It’s simply easier to keep one foot in the patterns of the past, especially if tradition is viewed as a very malleable template, a set of parameters as opposed to outcomes. Studying the grain of wood tells me just how best to put it to use.
I’ve been trying to make pictures the same way. Walking the beaches each morning I devote about as much time to studying the patterns of waves, sand, light and fog as I have to studying wood. I want my pictures to capture the ‘grain’ of these temporal interactions, which I distill into succinct categories depending upon the conditions of the day. I think of every wave as a cant cut from a fresh log, and relish the immediacy and simplicity of reporting on its rawness, everything reduced to just being present with camera in hand. Making pictures should be like catching a fish, or catching a wave.