Open Writing

I don’t know what it is about Yorkshire folk, but they do seem to have an innate desire to hack at pieces of stone. It had never occurred to me before, but then I signed up for a sculpture class and realized I was joining the ranks of sculptors such as Henry Moore, who was born in Castleford, and Barbara Hepworth, who hailed from Wakefield, to name but two. Make no mistake, I’m not suggesting that my name should even be mentioned in the same breath as those giants, but we do have our Yorkshire origins in common, and that will have to do for now.

My entry into the quarry arts came about as the result of taking a course in clay modeling. Adjacent to the studio where I took classes is an un-walled area given over to stone carving. As I messed and fussed with the clay in the hushed atmosphere of the studio, I could hear the ring of hammers against metal and the whine of all manner of power tools wielded by the jolliest, noisiest bunch of people you’re ever likely to encounter.

On hot spring days I took to working on my clay in this outer area, where there is often a pleasant breeze. In doing so I exposed myself to a good deal of kidding from the group that I began refer to as the “chipmunks.” In their eyes, clay sculpture is for wimps, ignoring the fact that some clay works can weigh as much as 150lbs. I took their ribbing in good part, but when they started asking when I was going to get serious and take on a piece of stone, I drew the line.

Why would I want to spend my time covered in stone dust, wearing a mask and gloves in 85 degrees, working on a project that could take me weeks if not months to complete? But then the magic of the stone started to seep into my consciousness. Clay is clay, more or less, but here was an art form that could be expressed in a whole range of materials.

The soft translucency of Alabaster with its pale pink veining, the myriad colors and patterns of Granite and Marble, the implacability of Slate, all drew me closer. Then there was the thrill of the tightrope that all stone carvers walk. Several times I had heard groaning expletives from one of the “chipmunks” upon the discovery of an unanticipated fault, deep in the piece of stone he or she was working on. Though this could be dismaying, often, if the design was abstract, the fault might inspire a new turn.

But I continued to resist, until one day a clay sculpture I had worked on for hours broke into three pieces just before I was ready to fire it. Without a single backward glance I immediately signed up for the next stone carving class. That brought the anxious challenge of choosing a piece of stone to work on. I had my choice of Alabaster, Marble, African Wonder Stone, and a slew of others I had never heard of, from places as far away as Kenya and Malaysia.

In a small way, selecting a stone is something like the throes I imagine adoptive parents go through when they are faced with choosing a child from several adoptees. There the candidates wait, totally unknown quantities, revealing nothing of their inner qualities, strengths and weaknesses. Can they, with skill and care and affection, be turned into treasures, or will some hidden fault in their creation frustrate the love and attention lavished upon them?

In the end I chose a piece of Alabaster, not I must confess for any high minded, aesthetic reasons, but simply because a) I could lift it, b) I could afford it, and c) because it was relatively soft compared to Marble and Granite. The actual decision to purchase a piece of stone is like plunging into an icy lake. Once you’ve left the diving board, you might just as well pretend it was a good decision and enjoy the swim. Little did I realize the deep and dark water I was getting into.

First came the shock of what this little, 60lb rock was going to cost me – over a hundred smackers! The next unwelcome discovery was that I’d need special chisels; one set for alabaster, another for marble, and a diamond coated set for granite. Then there are the specialty tools – rifflers, burrs and rasps in every shape and size. The 5lb hammer that had seen me through all kinds of masonry work would have to be replaced by a 1.5lb, less fatiguing version. To finish the stone, if I make it that far, I must obtain 10 grades of sandpaper, buffing compound, Akemi oil, and finally a wax containing Carnauba oil.

To speed the creative process, I can hire a couple of assistants like the big guys do, or obtain an array of power tools that any joiner would die for. I chose the latter. I figured that hiring assistants at this stage of my development would be seen as ostentatious, and anyway I’ve had my fill of managing people.

I’m now into my third class, and so far it’s going well. There have been no nasty surprises from my piece of Alabaster, and the taunts from my fellow stone carvers have turned into kindly offers of help and advice. But if I’ve learned nothing else, it is now clear to me that the rocky road to artistic expression in stone is not to be undertaken by the faint of heart or weak of limb - or shallow of pocket. More anon.

# # #