A year ago, my first piece went on display at the entrance to Big Horn Meadow at Camp Tahosa in Colorado. Miraculously, it survived the winter and into the summer. Everyone who sees it loves it. It wasn't signed, so people who don’t know me don’t know I carved it. And, sometime during the spring, someone moved the welcome sign from the bridge to the carving, making it official.
It is a special feeling to see others enjoying my creation, even taking pictures with it; more-so because they don’t know who did it. I can simply enjoy it secretly. Of course, I have been told that I must sign it, but I am resisting.
I guess I am beginning to become a sculptor.
Over the winter, I had several conversations with the camp ranger and others who knew about the big horn sheep on display. The consensus was that it would be really special if there could be a custom-carved totem for each campsite at the camp. With that a new project is born, one too big to do by myself. But, we started this summer.
Oh, I have been carving all year, small things, like a bear in relief on a wooden hanger – making it clearly mine. And, I started teaching wood carving merit badge. But, this project is light-years beyond a simple relief carving.
The ranger agreed to find a log for our next piece and put it in the cradle in Big Horn Meadow for me. As it happened, my troop would be at camp the next week, so I could start it and then move it to our camp site to finish and perhaps interest some of the Scouts. The totem would be a hawk and will go into the ground in the Black Hawk camp site.
The start of the third week of June at 9000 feet was cold and wet – storming often and with a lot of water for the first two days. The log had magically appeared the first day – I did not see the ranger deliver it, but it was perfect. When the sun finally came out, I nervously approached my target. A full hawk is a much more complex carving than a big horn sheep head. I had only a rough idea of what it would look like when done.
The first step was a real challenge – introducing myself to the log and listening to it – beginning the conversation we would need to produce a finished sculpture. I was hesitant. Summoning my courage, I stepped forward and placed my hands on the bark. What would it look like when stripped? Would it work? And which end should I use? These and other questions were at the front of my mind as I caressed the log.
After some time, I don’t know how long, I chose the end I would work with. I shifted the log and started with the draw knife. As the bark came off, the blue veining from the beetle kill was clearly visible. I hoped it went deep enough to add character to the figure. Once the work area was clear, I stopped and sat in my chair next to the log. Again, I don’t know how long, but I was listening, trying to reach a compromise with the log on how to start and where.
The next step was a rough sketch to show the general shape and size. I wanted it to be around life-size. My goal for that first week was simply to rough cut the figure. The next week would be the heavy chisel work, or so I thought. But, part of the project is to use no power tools, and I found that my Japanese pull saws were not entirely up to the task. After all, it was a big log. So, part way into the roughing out process, I had to resort to chisels to remove whole chunks of wood. It was nerve wracking and potentially dangerous because pine splits easily. Still in six hours or so, I had a rough, blocky outline to work from.
Just as I put the chisels and saws in their cases, the rain came back. It was a few gentle drops, at first. But I knew what was coming and quickly covered the log to protect the work and retreated to the shelter of the barn. There was no more carving for several days. Still, I felt connected, somehow. During the break, I took the time to dress my tools, honing edges for the more precise carving to come.
I have to admit that it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. My plan was to invite interested Scouts to help and to begin to learn about the conversation between the creator and the creation. That meant putting some trust in them not to damage the work in their excitement and unfamiliarity with the tools.
On Monday, the weather began to clear and warm up. So, with a Scout from my troop who had an empty period, we built a half-cradle to prop the log at an angle convenient for carving. Once the cradle was ready, I drove down to the lower part of camp, where I had left the log in safety. With assistance from some staff, we carefully loaded the log in the bed and I slowly drove up to our campsite, keeping the bounces to a minimum. Once there, several Scouts helped to carry and position the log. The carving was covered, so they did not know what it would become. But it was still too cold to carve, so it stayed covered till the next day, despite the many questions from among the interested Scouts.
The next day dawned, bright and warm. Ben, one of the Scouts in my troop, asked if he could help. He had an open period after lunch, but now it was the wood carving merit badge period, which he was taking. We had moved the merit badge to our campsite because I had the safety equipment that the camp did not have and the counselor was inexperienced. So, I was the de-facto counselor. We got everyone started, clamping down their projects so they could use both hands on the chisels and knives, reducing the likelihood of cuts. Then I took Ben to the hawk and showed him how to get started. It was at a point where rasping was needed to gently shape the shoulders. Not much chisel work at that point and safe enough that I could work with other Scouts on their projects.
After class, we took a break and went to lunch. Ben was expansive in his excitement and expression of joy at working with the wood. After lunch, he had a free period. So, we got our chairs and sat, communing with the wood. We talked about conversing with and listening to the wood. And, we began to share ideas on the carving. After a bit, we got busy. This time, I showed him how to use the mallet and chisel - well, one chisel. We were shaping the shoulders and the head. And, we were working together; I with the rasp and he, very carefully, with the chisel. After about 40 minutes, we took a break to hydrate and consider our progress. The collaboration was a wonderful experience.
But, it was more. He now had a shared vision with me and with the wood. And, I could trust him to work carefully without supervision. So, I allowed him to keep working, even when I was doing something else. He never started a new section without consultation. And he was careful. And, he could not stop. I actually had to take the tools away as the sun went down. Over the week, he took every chance to work on the project. In total, he put in 8 or so hours of work. I put in more than double that. By noon on Friday, we were done. The wood told us “No more. I will fall apart.” And it might have. The cracks were deeper and more pronounced. We could do no more. So, I found my glue and we sealed up the larger cracks. Then we put away our tools. The hawk was done. And in truth, it looked like a hawk, from every angle. We shook hands and took pictures. Another Scoutmaster took one of the 3 of us.
As far as the carving goes, the project is done, though it will wait another week to have the finish put on.
And, what have I learned? First, I am not sure this brings me closer to being a sculptor, though this totem, too, will be on display after I put the coatings on to survive the weather. And, as promised, I will sign this one, including Ben in the signature.
The experience was even more wonderful than the first one. In part, I knew my tools a bit better and could be more effective with them. And, I think I was better at listening to the wood, though that is really very subjective. It was a challenge and did push me to be more and do more than the first one. But, it was also a shared experience. One in which I was simultaneously learning and teaching or guiding another.
That communion in a common purpose is really special and very rare. It is to be treasured. And perhaps, that is the real point. The question is not whether I am a sculptor, though I suppose I am, at least a little bit. Instead, it is sharing both the output and the process with others. Certainly the totem will last for years, bringing some joy or at least smiles and perhaps conversation to those who see it. But more importantly, it became a vehicle to share process, creativity, appreciation of craft, and joy with other people as the project was developed. The point is to share and not worry about what it is called.
