While I wait for the bowl to dry, I’ve been sketching, which I’ll talk about in a moment. I’ve also been mulling over a new piece based on the 24 hour challenge #3, which I’ll also talk about in a moment.
The bowl has cracked as it dried, which is to be expected: it’s thick and dries unevenly, and the drain hole presents a further issue. The cracks are developing around the hole as the bowl shrinks away from the center.
Not to worry, my professional advisors tell me. First of all, the cracks are fillable. And even if they reappear in the firing, we’ll just plug them with slip and glaze. Failing all of that, there are several epoxies we can use post-glaze. So I’m not worried.
Here’s a picture:
So I’ve been sketching. Not assiduously mind you, but I’m working. I’ve focused on photographs of my fellow Lichtenbergians taken in the labyrinth, and specifically their faces. This is a very hard thing. This week I’ve worked on my own portrait, and I’ve finally produced one that sort of looks like me.
I’ve also produced several that have a vague resemblance to my grandmother in her dotage. I persevere.
Mostly it’s the eyes and the nose. I need to go back to my reference books I brought with me and do some actual studying on “how to do it.”
In other news, after hearing “I Dance a Clubfoot’s Waltz,” our string teacher welcomed the chance to have his students read through a completed version of it. I’ll be working on that tomorrow morning.
The problem at the moment is that I’ve grown accustomed to its little 20-second form. Taking a crowbar to it and prying it open for more development is very scary. I think it will open the same, but then take some basic fragments to build on, the pizzicato triplets, the hammered hemiolas, and the bassoon phrases, returning to the current piece as a recapitulation and coda.
I went to the library to check out a score for Shostakovich’s 8th Symphony. (I wanted his string quartets, but those apparently are still in the acquisitions department, since June of 2006.) While I was there, I thought it would be fun to find my Dance for Double Bass Duo & Marimba on the shelf. Using my trusty iPhone, I found the call number and tracked it down.
They have the score and parts, but they have also copied the score into a little booklet which is shelved separately. It was fun to see it. And then I noticed that it had been checked out to interlibrary loan back in April. Wow! One wonders who found it and ordered it? Clearly whoever it was didn’t find it interesting enough to perform, or surely they would have contacted me.
Anyway, the current piece cannot be called “Clubfoot’s Waltz,” I’m sure, so I think it’s going to be another Dance for Basson & String Quartet. I’m going to experiment giving the bassoon part to a second viola or second cello, but it will probably remain for the bassoon.
The bowl was dry and firm enough to begin cutting. First I used my handy template to mark where the channels for the bricks ought to be:
If I had been thinking, I would have cut way around the circle, since I was successful in making the bowl big enough to extend beyond the edge of the granite.
Then I used my little brick template to mark the channels:
Since I’m pretty sure the granite was not cut on precisely 90° angles, I took care to mark the cardinal points on the template, and on the bowl.
Here’s the first channel cut:
I cut it a little larger than the template. It will shrink, i.e., get bigger, as the clay dries and is then fired, but that’s OK. I want the margin of error to be big enough to accommodate the reality of the bricks in the dirt. I will not have another chance to get this right. Once I get the bricks set, I can fill in any terrible gaps with caulking if I feel like it.
Finally, all four channels cut:
I saved the cutouts, maybe I’ll make little markers out of them.
The interior continues to be a puzzle. Andy’s not sure about how gold leaf would adhere to the glaze, and it would be a constant battle to keep it gilded. All the sticks and dirt would scratch it off almost immediately. I’m thinking I may smooth the exterior as well.
A reminder of where this is going:
Today I smoothed the interior:
I think I’m leaving the exterior rough. You will notice that I have cleaned up the drainhole.
You will also have noticed, those of you with any history with this blog, that I have successfully distracted myself from both my 24 hour challenge and my sketching for the ELP.
After fretting about it all night, I decided that I would add more height to the bowl, for several reasons. First, as I mentioned yesterday, if I wanted more than an inch of water in the bowl after I cut slots for the bricks to jut into, I needed more to cut into. Second, by adding height I would also add width. The inside measurement stood at about 20 inches; with shrinkage, it might barely fit under the granite, and I think it would be better if it were significantly set back.
Anyway, here’s the bowl after adding one coil:
You can see how shallow it was. So I added two more coils after this, and ended up with:
It’s mammoth. It’s 22 inches across, inside measurement. I’m a little afraid of it, actually. Now I let it dry and set for a couple of days before making my incisions.
The floor is still open for discussion of what the interior should look like.
So first we flipped the bowl:
Here’s an interior shot:
I had developed concerns that it was not wide enough, the opening of the granite is 19 inches, and it wasn’t, but Andy showed me how to shape it and stretch it. As I worked, it opened up to at least 20 inches, which should be about right. I would feel more comfortable if I had made it larger to begin with.
Also, as I worked, the bottom flattened out quite a bit. I’m now developing concerns that it’s too shallow, in terms of cutting slots for the bricks to fit through.
Today I began construction of the bowl which will form the center of the labyrinth, its omphalos.
Here’s the center as it stands now:
The bowl in the center at the moment was given to me by Ginny for Christmas. I use it for different kinds of almost rituals: washing the granite center pieces, that kind of thing. The bowl I am building will be permanently installed beneath the granite and bricks.
It will have a relatively flat bottom with a hole in it. Thus, water will drain from it (and yes, I’m planning on digging a deepish hole and filling it with gravel to serve as a drain beneath the bowl), but I can plug it to fill it if I wish. If I’d rather have fire than water, I can place a tray with candles in it–or just candles.
If I get really good, I’ll have candles beneath the water.
Anyway, I started work on that today. Andy Cunningham, Jr., the head of our art department, is a patient and effective teacher. I am using the coil method to build this thing. Here are the first three coils:
I include the water bottle for scale.
Ah, but perhaps you’ve spotted a potential gremlin: the rim of the bowl cannot be flat. There are bricks which will cut through the rim and jut out over the bowl.
And lo! I remembered that and did a rubbing of the center before I came down here:
That’s how I knew how big to make the bowl, and where to cut the channels. (The granite was supposed to have been cut at 90° angles, but my eye tells me clearly that it was not.)
Andy let me use the extruder, much to the disgust of the art minors, who were made to roll their own coils. Hence, by the end of the afternoon, I was done with the basic construction:
That sits overnight to dry a bit and firm up. Tomorrow we’ll flip it over and let gravity do the flattening of the bottom.
The floor is now open for discussion of what the inside of the bowl should look like.
I’ve been inspired by Mike’s 24 Hour Toon venture, so I’m going to set myself a challenge, more about which in a moment.
The other challenge which I’ve set myself is to fill a couple of pages of sketches of people’s mouths. (I thought about leading off with some statement about sketching “body parts,” just to set your filthy minds in motion, but why waste the time?) Those Lichtenbergians who’ve had their reference photos taken will be my subject.
After I do mouths, I’ll move on to noses, eyes, etc. I may do chests or thighs.
OK, my 24-Hour challenge.
Here’s what I’m going to do. I have selected five books of poetry from my shelves:
Those are not in order 1-5, by the way. Your three numbers will give me: a volume, a page number, and a line number. If the page number or line number exceeds the number of pages or lines, I’ll do the modular math thing until I get to a number which is contained in the volume/page. A couple of the books have essays interspersed; if the page number is within an essay, I’ll move to the first page of poetry after the essay.
And…?
I’ll post the sender and the line of poetry (perhaps the complete sentence, if I’m in the mood) and within 24 hours, I will compose a brief setting of that line for baritone voice, i.e, me, and post it here. I am not going to compose an entire piece, merely that one line, for voice and piano (or if I’m really inspired, a string quartet).
If all of you email me at once, I’ll take them in order as I get them.
Let’s see how far I get.
My goal tonight, art-speaking-wise, was to do at least five pages of sketches from photos I took Saturday night, and at least one painted sketch for Field III.
In all of that I’ve been successful. I ended up with eight sketches in the notebook, and this for Field III:
I think what I want to do next with this idea is explore more blogs along the horizon line.
Incidentally, this is not based directly on a photo, as were Field I and Field II. I have a photo I’m using as an inspiration, but its composition is not as strong as I want it. Of course, neither is this study.
More work is called for.
Nothing of import to discuss, just lots of little meandering ideas.
Yesterday was my birthday, yes, thank you for all the well wishes, and I received several nice things. Those of you who know my penchant for wooden boxes (and clearly my wife knows it) will understand the thrill I got from this:
It’s a pencil box, not an antique, but a very neat replica of one. Here you can see the inkwell on the left, and the upper “drawer” swung out to the side. The joint between the inkwell and the drawer is not distorted: it actually slants so that the drawer can swing out. When it’s swung in, the lid slides all the way in and holds it all together.
I’m thinking about making it my pen & ink case for all those many times I’m sketching with pen & ink. Well, you know, all those times I’m going to be sketching with pen & ink.
My dear wife also gave me, as a semi-serious gag gift, three little art kits: watercolor, sketching, and oil pastel. Each “artist’s kit” is about 12×14 and opens up to reveal a nice pad of paper, a tray of supplies, and a book by the series author, one Philip Berrill, the “Flying Artist.”
In what is surely a stunning example of the Newnan Vortex™ at work, Mr. Berrill died exactly two weeks ago. It almost makes me feel bad about what I have to say about his kits.
Here’s the cover to the watercolor kit:
This is it, guys. It doesn’t get any better in any of the illustrations in any of his guides. It’s awful. It’s so awful that it doesn’t even make me feel better about myself as an artist. I mean, this guy was famous and apparently rich from the sales of his books and kits. He flew to Dubai to teach ex-pats how to paint. Mercy.
Plus, the pad converts into an adjustable easel. At least there’s that.
I do think that such a kit would have been a godsend to me as a child. The quality of the materials is not the best, but it’s all there in a nifty little book/box, and there are some cheesy examples in the book to copy that wouldn’t strain the abilities of the rankest beginner, and I have to believe that these things will give the gift of art to more than a couple of people who would not have had it otherwise.
In other news, the sequel to Shubian’s Rift has begun shooting. Oh yes.
Did you know I’m in the Internet Movie Database? Oh yes I am. And in Amazon, where I am top billed.
The sequel, the title of which I am yet unaware, will be webcast in three episodes. I will not spoil it for you by revealing the dread secret of Sid Shubian and Tuka D’Nuul. Not to mention Dr. Ploo.
Today a box arrived from Cottage Garden, and it sorely puzzled me. I had not ordered anything, yet it was addressed to me. When I opened it, it was seven little plants, cunningly packed, a gift from Marc and Mary Frances Honea. They’re a little flowering shrub, Cuphea ilavea, and they’re in memory of our little dog Winnie, who passed away last month. This variety is called “Tiny Winnie,” which is why the Honeas gave them to us.
Here’s what they will look like:
For the moment I will plant them in planters, but eventually they’ll go in the planting area beside our “dance floor” patio overlooking the labyrinth.
I have a lot to get done between now and the gathering of the Lichtenbergians by the labyrinth on Saturday, and the amount of rain we’ve been having has not helped. Still, this afternoon I was able to drag some stuff together and start creating a new look for one of the lighting fixtures:
This is on the advice of my trusted shamanic advisor, who said that these lights, situated as they are by the southpoint of the labyrinth, needed metal, preferably copper. You can sort of see what it looks like in this photo. My puny camera cannot capture the glow and interplay of light in the night. You’ll just have to drop by and see it for yourself.
What else do I want to get done before Saturday? I have to finish the new lighting look at the southpoint. I need to plant the remaining ferns (Japanese painted) where the daffodils have finally died down, digging up the bulbs and transferring them, eventually, to the dance patio planting area. I have to clean off my work tables, no easy task. I’d love to get the stone circle made for the westpoint. I have to clean all the votives and replace the candles. I want to trim and sweep the stones. Etc., etc. I wonder how much I’ll get done.
