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Thoughts & Opinions

Stories in Stone: Part 2 - May/June 2004

Ed. This is the second half of David Williams’ article about types of stone used in constructing some of Seattle’s better known buildings. It is reprinted here with permission and originally appeared in Pacific Northwest, the Seattle Times Magazine, January 24, l999.

 

Index Granite

The other local rock used in the building trade came from a quarry near Index. John Soderburg, who helped found Swedish Hospital, opened the quarry in 1894, just two years after the Great Northern Railroad laid tracks along the Skykomish River. The quarry is now a popular rock climbing area. Index granite was used in numerous Seattle buildings including the Times Square Building and the base of Smith Tower, and for curbs and paving stones throughout the city.

 

The salt-and-pepper colored rock formed 33 million years ago, as a wedge of oceanic crust on the Farallon plate, began to dive under the North American continent. As the plate slid deeper, it melted the surrounding dark, iron-rich basalt. This magma began to rise and melt the lighter, silica and aluminum-rich continental material, converting it to a granite. Continued subduction of the Farallon plate eventually produced enough heat to generate the Cascade volcanoes.

 

Compared with other granites, the Index is less flashy and more heterogeneous. Builders do not think that the black-and-white Index rock is as attractive as the pinks, greens, and reds found in many international granites used in Seattle. Furthermore, the variously sized blobs of black and white in the Index granite do not appeal to those who want consistency in their building stone.

 

Geologists, on the other hand, like these blobs or enclaves as they call them. Enclaves provide insight into the formation of granite. For example, the white Index enclaves indicate a gas or water pocket in the magma, while the black ones are pockets of iron and manganese-rich magma that moved up through the Index granite, like the movement of colored blobs in a lava lamp.

 

Like many local rocks, the Index granite was popular because it was close to its market. When new rocks hit Seattle, the Index was left to the province of climbers and geologists.

 

Chuckanut Sandstone

Of all the local rocks, sandstone was the most commonly used for building material. Quarries in Wilkeson, Tenino, and Chuckanut Bay, as well as Waldron Island, provided the bulk of the material. These quarries, which opened as early as the 1850s, combined proximity to water or rail transport with a homogenous, well-cemented, low porosity rock.

 

Most of the Seattle buildings that use local sandstone center around Pioneer Square. These include the Bailey Building, Pioneer Building, Yesler Building, and Elliott Bay Bookstore. Most were built after Seattle’s legendary 1889 blaze.

 

Despite the distance separating the quarries, they share a similar geologic history. All of the sandstone was deposited 40 to 50 million years ago when this region was much warmer and much flatter. The Cascades would not push their way into the picture for at least 15 million years. Low volcanic islands were forming where the Olympics now stand. Water dominated the environment with a sea to the west and rivers and swamps to the east of the land now occupied by Everett, Seattle, and Tacoma. These rivers deposited layer upon layer of sand in a vast swath of deltas, which formed at the sea/land boundary. These layers are still visible in the sandstones used as building stones.

 

Along with this changed topography was a changed climate. Palm trees, ferns, and magnolias flourished in the subtropical ecosystem that dominated the lowlands, while large herons and small three-toed horses traipsed through the waterways. This warm, flat period did not last long and by 25 million years ago, Washington had started to take on its modern appearance including mountains, conifers, and cooler temperatures.

 

French Limestone

Many people who walk into the Westlake Center fail to notice the captivating cast of characters beneath their feet. If they took the time to look down, shoppers would find the remains of marine organisms who navigated a sea that covered Europe 175 million years ago in the Jurassic period. The tawny limestone with reddish streaks comes from quarries located about 15 miles south of Dijon, France.

 

Geologists refer to this rock as the Comblanchien Limestone. The fine-grained mud that comprises the unit settled in a Bahamas-like environment with shallow, lagoon-like waters protected by sandbars. The murky, mud-choked waters were inhospitable to all but a few organisms.

 

Sponges are the most common fossil. These bottom dwelling, filter feeders formed small mounds. Their darker color and often blobby shape stand out from the surrounding matrix. Other bottom dwellers include solitary corals, which resemble a clock face without the numbers and brachiopods, marine animals that are commonly mistaken for clams. Less common denizens were oysters, snails, and star fishes. The fine-grained quality and pureness (99-100% calcite) of the Comblanchien have made it a popular building stone since the Middle Ages. Like many stones used in the building trade, the Comblanchien’s fame spread with the railroad, which reached the quarries during the reign of Napoleon III. (The first railroad in the United States was built to reach quarries in Quincy, Massachusetts, to provide stone for Bunker Hill Monument.) The limestone has remained popular in France and is found in Orly Airport, Gare de Lyon, and the Musee d’Art Moderne in Paris.

 

Jurassic-age French limestones play another role for some Seattlites. Many of the finest burgundy wines, such as Beaune, Nuits St. George, and Chambertin, grow on soils derived from these rocks.

 

The theory of plate tectonics postulates that the Earth’s surface consists of about a dozen pieces of rigid shell, known as plates. Heat from deep within the planet causes the plates to slide around the surface. The formation, destruction, and interaction of these plates, carrying the oceans and continents hundreds and sometimes thousands of miles around the surface of the planet, accounts for the features we see on the surface of Earth. Something akin to plate tectonics occurs in the building stone industry with the movement of quarried rocks hundreds and thousands of miles around the planet. Long before the globalization of the world’s economy, builders were practicing their own form of plate tectonics transporting granite, marble, and limestone around the world. Builders understood the interrelationship and interdependence of the continents long before economists coined the phrase “global economy.”

Cooperation Along the Pilchuck - May/June 2004

Driving to Camp Brotherhood for the first time in July 2001, I looked forward not only to sculpting and meeting sculptors, but also to collecting stones along nearby Pilchuck Creek. I was especially eager to get some of the nephritic jade said to be found there. At daybreak of Camp B’s third day, I drove south on Hwy 9 to check out the stream’s accessibility where the bridge crosses it. No problem. I reconnoitered downstream, collecting two nice cobbles—a green one with intricate surface veining that was some kind of serpentine, and a brown one with an intriguing corrugated texture that (I learned a month later) was a jade striated by some less resistant mineral. I returned early the next morning for a thorough search. More impressed by the first find, I was on the lookout for a larger serpentine. Going upstream for a quarter of a mile, I spotted many of about the same size as my first cobble, a few boulders weighing more than a ton, and a fine two-man stone.

As I drove back to CB for breakfast, I imagined that by offering this serpentine to Wednesday’s benefit auction, I could enlist someone to help collect it, who, like me, had not brought any donations. Tom Small volunteered. Early the next day, equipped with Vic Picou’s hand truck, we sloshed upstream to the stone. While I lashed it onto the dolly, he scouted out a steep but short route from the stream’s bed to a little-used side road. Up we went with Tom pulling from above and me pushing from below. As we toiled, Tom couldn’t resist observing that a rope and pulley simplified non-motorized stone collecting. We laughed, and I silently resolved to incorporate these essentials into my gear. Back to CB’s main lodge with the stone in time for breakfast, I was happy to announce our donation to the following day’s auction.

 

I secretly hoped that I would manage to be the top bidder for the stone. However, knowing that I have difficulty resisting auction fever, I resolved before the bidding began not to go above $100. Little did I foresee how successful auctioneer Elaine McKay would be at whipping up our interest or how cagey then vice president Ken Barnes would be in a bidding contest. The outcome was that I did acquire the serpentine, but at a price of $180!

 

That fall I had time to start turning my dearly acquired stone into the centerpiece of a fountain. At CB, I had not only met Rich Hestekind but heard through the grapevine that he was a fountain guru. So I called for advice. We agreed on a time for me to bring the serpentine to his studio near Marenako’s Rock Center to discuss the project. After hearing my plan to orient the predominant surface veins vertically, Rich suggested instead that veins should be horizontal so that they would slow the water’s descent. After considering my notion of using a quarter-ton granite boulder for the fountain’s base, he proposed using a two-tier, diorite plinth for this purpose. I readily recognized the aesthetic and practical advantages of Rich’s ideas.

 

A month or so later, after I had carved the serpentine’s top basin and leveled its bottom and Marenako’s had pressure-split a diorite riser into 2’x2’ and 1’x1’ blocks for the plinth; I again met Rich at his studio. There, for a price that struck me as eminently fair, he did the requisite coring and provided me with the stainless hardware needed both to link the serpentine to its plinth and to conduct the water upwards. He also outlined the several remaining steps that would need to be taken before I would have a working fountain in my front garden.

 

Just a few weeks before CB 2002 and thanks to additional advice and pool supplies from Seattle’s Sky Nursery and to help and encouragement from neighbors and family, the fountain was finally up and running. The pleasures of seeing and hearing the water play over the serpentine and its base have been delightful ever since. They have also been a daily reminder of CB and the spirit of cooperation that flourishes there.

Dogwood Blooms - Mar/Apr 2004

Over the last four years I have had the privilege to live onboard my sailing catamaran, ‘Manx’ and have sailed the waters off the East Coast of the US and the Bahamas. In my travels, I found it difficult-to-impossible to carve even small pieces. The boat moves in place as well as from place to place. There were few moments chore free to set aside for artistic pursuits of any kind. So, I shielded myself from inspiration, from the wild, gnawing yearning, which could overwhelm my joy of the moment. But sometimes I am caught unaware. Sometimes, when I least expect it, I get caught by an image so compelling that it takes my breath away. The faces of humanity have always had that kind of effect, so I make a habit of drawing and even return to watercolor and acrylic to assuage the need to “get it down.”


So, here is the story of one such situation and how the time between inspiration and finished work was used so that I could hold on to the vision, keep my sanity, and maybe even experience joy.


I had been traveling through the land of spring flowers, flowers that were familiar and unfamiliar. I was sailing up the Intracoastal Waterway along the eastern seaboard; a series of rivers, lakes, bays, and canals that go from Norfolk, VA to the tip of Florida. This was all new territory to me, as I had lived my entire life in the Puget Sound area. In a sailboat you are allowed the time to really see the land you are traveling through. At each port-of-call there are new things to see and experience, new scents to take in.

 

But sometimes it is the familiar in an unusual environment that will bring it all into focus and touch that part of you that releases your creative energy. Moments like these have become familiar to me now, but then, time was short, and knowing that it might be months until I could start working in stone, it was necessary to harness the energy when it came, so that it would be available at a future time. In this case it was a simple dogwood bloom in an old Beaufort, SC home that caused me to re-evaluate what I thought I knew about that flower. I got out my camera and took a series of photos. Later, during a quiet moment off watch, I did several drawings from memory. I was thinking of a piece of semitransparent white alabaster that I had started carving several years before and had been unable to finish. Why I should remember that stone, of the many I had left behind, I could not say, but I made a note of it in my drawing journal. Then I was back to work and off on the next leg of my journey.


When we got home, for the summer that year, I made my way to the studio that I had shared with Jim Paget and Terry Slaton, signing on again. I had my drawing supplies and paintings so that I could use them as reference for future work. Setting up again, after a long absence, takes time, and locating where I left things is always worth several of my studio days. Eventually I found the stones that I had thought to use and lay them out ready to start on the next day of studio time. I usually have several works in progress so that I can optimize the use of tools and energy.


I was going to a family art camp in eastern Washington put on by the Okanogan County Arts Commission, having been introduced to it by Ward Lynch many years ago. I find it very stimulating to be around artists of other disciplines. The white stone, photos and drawings were brought out, but as so often happens, the vision and the reality were not the same. Finding it more important to begin than to try to figure out all the reasons why, out came the hand tools and off I went.

It felt so good to be in the woods, surrounded by excited and inspired friends, with a whole week to do what ever I chose. Inspiration turned to perspiration and I was happy with the possibilities. It would be different than first envisioned but that was all to the good. I made a small maquette out of plastiline clay to help me keep track of my intended direction. I do not use the model, not as the last word in the design, but as a map to a possible goal.


And then it happened, that moment of inattention. I heard the sound before I saw the results. The wonderful overhanging leaf, that was to be the backing of the bloom with its white-leaved fringe, and that I was so proud of, was gone!

Devastated, I wrapped the whole thing up and set it aside, sure that it could be epoxyed together, but not having the supplies to do it there. Moving on to other things, I decided it would be a good project for Camp Brotherhood.

Well, with all the help that is available at Camp B, it was only a matter of time until a solution was found. Very often the right solution is not the one we want, or hope for. In the end, the leaf became smaller, but more in scale and better for the finished sculpture. As so often happens, the piece became both more and less than I had hoped.


As it sits in the window now, it is satisfying to see that I could harness my creativity and bring about a sculpture that expresses that moment when the warm and scented air of South Carolina inspired me.


Patty has returned to the Northwest and is busy setting up her new home-based studio in Kent, WA. She is looking forward to once again becoming actively involved in NWSSA. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.