Thoughts & Opinions

You Don't Know Me - May/June 2005

Details: Created: Monday, 02 May 2005 01:43

Night, day, noon, Oprah time – in the world of an artist, it just doesn’t matter. I had just taken a seat in the Rock and Roll – a bakery by day and jazz spot by night, pandering to carvers and the occasional wayward air guitarist. Money for stone was known to change hands there, making it an underworld hot spot. The owner and I went way back, although not quite far enough. By the time we met and the hot chems between us were realized he was already taken, leaving us friendship and the right to do favors. He had helped me get my second PhD by giving me the occasional do-re-me to do-re-me in his club. Now that I was launched the singing had ended, but he did pass on the occasional tip for a different kind of gig.

“Hey Doll,” he said as he slid in across from me. “Got something I need you to do as a favor – no cashola in this one – sorry. Where’s the Fluff, by the way?”

“Getting something waxed I think.”

He slipped me a napkin with spilled cola and an address on it. “There’s an art intervention going on there in one hour. This vic’s a friend and it’s a bum rap. Take your fancy psychology degree over there and babble some sense into them.” I called the Fluff, told her to meet me, and was out of there faster than sandstone eats rifflers.

The garage was a murky den of stone dust, crusty Rodin posters, duct tape, and way too many people. The Trix could tell who they were instantly. The sculptor was the one in the middle, looking dazed and crushed. It was also a give-away that he tried to hug me the moment I entered. There were three others. Ms. Had-My-Nails-Done-Don’t-Make-Me-Scratch-You wearing the “Free Martha” T-shirt had to be the significant other. The one handing me the postcard for their next show – the teacher. Mustard turtleneck, black Armani jacket and nostrils flared – the gallery owner. They knew me from my rep and although uninvited, they were more than happy to repeat everything for my benefit. Two mallet strikes are better than one, after all.

The gist – the sculptor made the same thing over and over – yak. The wife was almost hysterical by the time it was all re-told. At her bookclub they were calling her Mrs. Yak. The teacher said there was “no true and worthwhile” meaning in a yak, let alone 36 yaks – he should go back to doing breasts. “Now there was the meaning of all life summed up in one gland.” The gallery owner was proclaiming there simply was not a yak market in the Northwest. No market – and not tasteful.

Not having given much thought to yak, I had to see the art before I spoke. At that moment the Fluff burst in breathless and smelling of Armor All. I said “yak”, pointed, and together we looked at his work starting with his first, finishing with the most recent.

I spun around like the world was my potter’s wheel. No time for psychobabble. Another spirit was about to be bush-hammered into oblivion. I would have to use the rules of universal “art talk” to get through quickly.  “When did making art become solely about money (art lingo #1) and boosting ancillary egos? Have any of you really looked beyond their fundamental yakness or asked him ‘why yak’? You, Teach – or should I say Spirit Breaker (rule #2 - always throw in a phrase that sounds Native American).You make nothing but boobs.  They’re good, perhaps great, keep it up, but a truly good teacher helps the student find their own voice, not clone theirs. Perhaps it’s you that’s gone a mammary too far. And you Mr. Art Dealer, your gallery sells nothing but bronze donuts. Hardly makes you the authority on the yak market anywhere. You – the Mrs. – why do you care? He’s happy, home carving, and if you’d actually look at them, telling HIS story. What you three should be interested in is the evolution of his craft and his soul. It may take him a long time to figure it out himself, but he’s got a journey to make (rule #3 – use “journey” whenever possible) and his just happens to be on the back of a yak.” With that, a loud sob burst out of Fluffy as she gazed at his latest work, entitled “Sad Yak.”

Heads spinning like grinder blades, the critics hardly noticed as the Big F and I gave the artist a round of regulation hugs, leaving him to rock on.

Terry's Tips - Mar/Apr 2005

Details: Created: Wednesday, 02 March 2005 01:36

I discovered that rasping/sanding takes a bit less effort, especially in the coarser stages, if a few passes in one direction are followed by another series across the first. The second passes take the tops off the ridges of the first with less contact surface involved. Subsequent finer grits work the same way.

Reduce the clutter in your work area. Not only will you be able to find a tool or your gloves faster (I need strings like a kindergarer has on his mittens in winter), but your shop will be a safer place. Power cords and air hoses can be a hazard. A slight trip may be an inconvenience, or a loss of balance that results in a damaged sculpture or broken sculptor.

After coarse sanding scrape the ridges off with the back of a hacksaw blade or other hard edge. A lot of material can be removed quickly, saving wear on the next grade of sandpaper.

I cut small squares from an old rubber door mat and used “Goop” adhesive to make pads for one of my larger sculptures.

When transporting your finished masterpieces from place to place remember what you are wearing. The jacket donned when going outdoors has zippers or snaps that seem to jump out and ding the finish. Rings and fingernails are also culprits. I seem to forget that a vertically-oriented piece needs wider spaces if carried horizontally. Make sure your footing and balance are considered when handling heavier works. I chipped the nose off a bird being unloaded from my van when I forgot about the curb behind me.

Drilling large holes with standard or carbide-tipped bits works better if a pilot hole is drilled first. Increase the size of subsequent passes. Even a ¼” pilot can ease the 3/8”, and it the ½” bit. Especially true in marble and granite. The small tapered bits designed for glass work better for me than carbide-tipped. Use them wet.

Daylight is something we all prefer [at least most) to the dark.  For an enlightening experience take your sculpture, probably done indoors, into the sun on a lazy Susan, with it between you and the sun. Spin it slowly, and notice all the imperfections in its surfaces, and the wavers in the edge lines.  And you thought you were done!

If you do your own photography, back up the shoot with a second camera. Slides are a must for some venues, darn, but apparently there are processes to make slides from digital images. I hope so! My film stripped in the camera after 18 frames! I did take backups on the digital camera, though. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome.

One final word. I like to put holes in my sculptures (the artistic term is ‘voids’). When rasping the inside curves remember that your hand is bracing the stone from the back and rasps have sharp points. Never forget that……