Contemplating
Twice little boys were drawn to the wobbly line of rocks in the sand. They wanted to play—and of course, I welcomed them. The first pair eagerly picked up little rocks and piled them onto the “spine.” Their dad was not happy, though. “Why don’t you build your own wall,” he bellowed into the wind. They lost interest in the game soon after that chiding and went off to look for another interesting activity. They came back one more time and we stood looking at the waves gobbling up the spine on its soft sandy base. Dad picked up their belongings and moved his family to another part of the beach.
Some other boys had a great time jumping over the spine—the little one touched it with his toe, the bigger one started his own pile next to mine. Their dad let them play all they wanted to with the rocks, with the “wall.” I even got to take their pictures: Shannon and Devon.
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Odd day, with the sun in and out, with the wind up and down. The tide is out—a wide stretch of wet sand, smoothly gliding from the pebbly dry mound to the gentle foam. What is the connection that keeps drawing me to this place and tells me that I need to make these installations? Weeks ago, the pressure had begun. A woman reported that she had found a whale’s vertebrae as we walked along the shoreline. The wind, the smell and I knew that I needed to make a “river of stones,” a spine of sorts that wound from the surf to the dryer shore.
9 am with a latte and a pan dulce—very international—I begin my work, not exactly sure where to start. Passing all the comfortable, neat piles of rocks, I settle on a deserted stretch just past the shelters. Oh well, I guess I’ll grab a bunch of these rocks and see where it goes. Beach walkers meandered by—some made comments or nodded, most studiously ignored my intensity. After all, a morning walk is internal, meditative, not meant to be a serious interchange. A few folk had made the effort to connect: a woman who knew Andy Goldsworthy’s work and liked my reference to him; a man who brought some inner city kids to the beach for a special weekend. We chatted and they noticed what I was doing. A former student stopped by to say hello.
Three and one half hours later, my back and thighs remind me that I am no longer 20 years old. The sea chased me for all that time as I collected, toted, and piled more than 80 feet of the ribbon of rocks that grew along the tide line. It was backbreaking work and I thought longingly of the paper installations that I had made in years past. A stone spine materialized and disappeared along the tide line of Carpinteria State Beach.
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