As many of you heard, I made the crossing from hand tools to power last summer. My confession/announcement at Camp Brotherhood was greeted with cheers by many and few cries of “traitor”. Never mind, David Edwards, my heart still lies in my hand tools (or some such mixed metaphor).

This purchase of the Milwaukee grinder was due to the addition of a 500+ lb. chunk of Carrara marble to my backyard decor.  An artist friend in Seattle had housed it on his back deck for 10 years. He called me when he realized he was going to do more writing, along with his printmaking, wood carving and metal work and less stone carving.  I was invited to “come and get it” for the bargain basement price of $100, plus the energy it took to get it home. How could I say no?

 

With a lot of Peter’s farmboy physics, some ropes and boards and a lot of grunt, we managed to load The Big One into the back of our Explorer and drove slowly back to Bellingham on flattened springs.  A conveniently located utility pole was roped and held the stone while we drove the car out from under it, leaving the stone on the edge of the tailgate. A few more grunts and it was installed on a huge log round we brought back from Telegraph Cove on the top of Vancouver Island years ago.

I chiseled on it for 8 hours or so prior just under 200 lbs., so this did seem BIG and HARD! At Camp, I borrowed and used a 2- tooth chisel to work on Vic’s group piece and loved it. Thinking I would “get me one”, I headed for the ‘Candy Store’ one drizzly morning and picked one out from Alex’s stash. It was one of those amazing transitional moments. I held that cold chisel in my hand and thought about that 500 lb. stone. The thought ran through my head, “In what lifetime do you plan to finish that piece?”  Well, well, I thought, so that’s how I feel about it? My hands reached for things big and red and before I knew it, I OWNED a Milwaukee and a box of Zecs. The action, so long resisted, was over in a dizzying flash.

 

And then, I hid it. Brought it home covered up in a laundry basket. Put it in a bag on my bottom studio shelf. Thought about it. Got through those first post-Camp B days when I am hyper and zombie-like in alternating waves. A few days later during lunch, Peter handed me the newspaper, pointing out an article that stated the highest percentage of lies between spouses (spice?) was about secret purchases.  “Why did you show me this?” I demanded in a guilty voice. He grinned, “I just thought it was interesting. “Oh,” I said, “Well, I do have something to confess. I DID buy something at Camp B that I haven’t told you about yet.”  I smiled shyly and fluttered my eyelashes. He didn’t bite until the next morning.  “Okay, okay. So what did you buy?”  I held an imaginary grinder and waved it around. His eyes got big. “You got a grinder!?”  It was interesting to see him wince, not at the cost, but at the idea that he would now have to worry about me being in charge of something whirling very fast, cutting through stone as if it was flesh. And hoping it would stay “as if”.

I spent some time with that stone, glancing at it out the breakfast room window, from the upstairs bathroom, from across the yard as I pulled weeds. What was in there? An image bloomed in my inner vision — fully formed — some nuances detailed, others hazy. Was that it? I paced around the stone, attempting to fit this image into its contours. Yes, maybe it would fit. I got out some clay and tried to create the image. Couldn’t do it. I found myself starting with a clump that I tried to shape like the stone, then cut away chunks to get the image. I finally abandoned the clay blob to dry in the dust, then be melted in the rain. Now what? Chip away some more, then … get out the grinder!  An evil laugh, a Snidely Whiplash laugh came from my throat. Heh, heh, heh, I’ll show it.  But first: adequate sized extension cord, full body rat suit, face mask with appropriate particulate filter, ear protection, hair covering, gloves.

Looking like I was going to empty hazardous waste, I approached my stone, wondering if it would recognize me. In moments I was laughing in my mask, dazed with my power. Grinding, grinding, grinding. The chisel marks melted. I looked up, grinning.  My neighbor and the recycle trash man were staring at me.  I waved my red grinder at them. The hollyhocks and hedge looked like they were covered in frost. A dust cloud a la Mt. Saint Helens filled the air. I realized with a sinking feeling that I had left the upstairs windows open, the kitchen and basement doors open and that I would be spending the evening cleaning up dust. A thick coating of it covered my newly painted house. It was a covering that would turn into cement when rain hit it, which it inevitably would.  Hmmm, the seriousness of these drawbacks to the use of power have me momentarily stumped. As much as I like working at home, this baby may have to be moved down  to the Bellingham Group Studio.  Hope that works for you Phil, and you, Ruth, and you, Scott. I really don’t want to be thrown out of my neighborhood.  Or maybe I will just go back to hand tools.

[Ed. Note: When we asked Jan if she would really go back to hand tools and abandon the Milwaukee, Jan wrote back: Nah, I won’t abandon the grinder. I’ll just pick times when my house is up-wind! ]