Winter Sculpture
Cold I can handle. Wind I can't. Saturday was windy but Sunday came up calm. Debate between formed and free-piled got settled by simplicity and I loaded what I needed into a backpack and rode to the beach.
Would the wind come up? Would there be decent sand? You never know in winter. Summer's day after day of the same weather is long gone, and it could very well be that the fine sand was also long gone.
Sampling the beach revealed good sand, mixed with lots of shells and rocks. I'd just have to work around them. It was a challenge.
While I was working on my sculpture water was making its own. At high tide water infiltrates the beach because sand imperfectly fills space. It's like oranges in a box. Until some gene engineer perfects a cubical or rhomboid dodecahedral orange there will always be open space between the oranges. As the tide falls this infiltrated water seeps out, slowly, gracefully, shining on the fine sand. The slow flow creates delicate patterns that fascinate me.
Would the wind come up? Would there be decent sand? You never know in winter. Summer's day after day of the same weather is long gone, and it could very well be that the fine sand was also long gone.
Sampling the beach revealed good sand, mixed with lots of shells and rocks. I'd just have to work around them. It was a challenge.
While I was working on my sculpture water was making its own. At high tide water infiltrates the beach because sand imperfectly fills space. It's like oranges in a box. Until some gene engineer perfects a cubical or rhomboid dodecahedral orange there will always be open space between the oranges. As the tide falls this infiltrated water seeps out, slowly, gracefully, shining on the fine sand. The slow flow creates delicate patterns that fascinate me.
# © 1765 by Larry @ 
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