Red Sandstone Blues

Today I'm thinking that it may not be possible to get it done by Wednesday after all.

That confounded sandstone dulls the tooth and the flat chisels in less than five minutes.  I do have a couple of carbide-tipped chisels, which keep their edge longer, but they are tiny, and it will take me forever to smooth that big piece of red stone with those. 

I could give up on chisels and try to smooth the thing with a rasp--normally you work in the order:  point chisel, tooth chisel, flat chisel, rasp--but the sandstone will probably do a job on that too.

Meanwhile, I have a big bruise on my left-hand where I have hit myself with the mallet, and a feeling of weariness in my heart.

As I said when I started this whole thing, one should never rush, when carving stone.

Sandstone Countdown

A week from today, it will all be over:  I'll either have finished the stone piece, and submitted it for jurying, or not.

Today, the fourth day, started out badly.  Too much stone, not enough muscle.  Too much sheer volume to be hacked away before I could even contemplate matters of shape.  "Help, I need help," I kept muttering.  I mean, old-time sculptors had apprentices--whole shops of them--for the heavy work and the boring parts, like polishing.

And then it occurred to me:  I could use some help sharpening my tools.  Sandstone, you see, is terribly hard on tools.  After half an hour of carving, a chisel is as dull and ineffective as a slice of Wonder bread.  No matter how hard you whale away with your mallet and wear out your sinews,  nothing much happens on the stone.

I am a terrible tool sharpener.  If things are going well, if I've got some momentum going, stopping to sharpen tools is the last thing on my mind.  If things aren't going well, I'm too upset to even think of sharpening chisels. And when I do condescend to sharpen a tool, it feels my aggravation and remains stubbornly blunt.

I am, however, married to a man who excels at tool sharpening.  Not until I married him did I experience the bliss of slicing an apple with a truly sharp knife.  Until then, my family had always sort of hacked/smashed meats and fruits and vegetables into submission, and bloodshed was a standard part of cooking.  But once you've known the bliss of a sharp blade, you never forget it.

My breakthrough today was to realize that I could, without compromising my creativity, ask Ed to sharpen my tools.  So I did.  And  he agreed. 

I handed him a pile of chisels--point, tooth, flat,  carbide, and steel, and before I'd even put my dust mask and gloves and carving shirt and shoes on, he handed them back with knife-sharp edges.  I went to work with the point chisel, and the stone just flew--it felt like power steering, and so good that I whaled away for two and a half hours without stopping...at the end of which my two point chisels were blunt again.  So I handed them back to  him and he sharpened them once more, and now they're sitting on my workbench, shiny and pointy, waiting for tomorrow's session.

I suspect that by next Wednesday my chisels will be worn down to stubs, but I'm beginning to think that finishing the piece by then just might--Inshallah--be a possibility.

Red Sandstone

There is a big hunk of red sandstone in my basement that has been bothering me.  Years ago I started to carve a figure out of it, then realized that it was all wrong, and abandoned it.

But if you're a stone carver, you don't abandon a stone just because it's been badly carved.  Stone is hard to find and heavy to carry, so sculptors try put to use even pieces that have been messed up.  Michelangelo made the David from a block of marble that had been partially carved and then abandoned by two sculptors before him.

Sunday in a fit of insanity I went into the basement and hefted the piece of sandstone, which weighs around 70 lbs, onto the carving stand.  I have not carved in the round for three years.  It's highly physical work, and I wasn't sure that I was up to it.  But I decided that if I could lift the stone, it would be a sign that I should carve it.

I looked at the stone from one side, and then the other, trying to figure out how I could salvage it.  I don't have an abstract bone in my body, so my choices were considerably fewer than if I had just set out to make a nice shape. I looked at that stone for a long time.

Finally I picked up a mallet (I couldn't believe how heavy my old five-pound mallet felt in my hand) and started whaling away.  This is what is known, in sculpture parlance, as "direct carving," and I may, one of these days, if I have enough strength left in my hands, write here about why I do it.

I should mention that a local arts organization is putting on a juried show, and the deadline is next Wednesday.  And I want to enter my piece of sandstone. 

If there is one thing one should never do, when carving stone, and especially when carving stone by hand, it's be in a hurry.  I may not be posting at my usual frequency in the coming days:  I'm carving with just a mallet and a chisel and my God-given muscles, and I'm in a big hurry.