Sliding Into Spring

This week I've been in our sugarbush hanging sap buckets, 215 so far. That may be as many as I put out this season. Our Windham County, Vermont property is typical of the region; rugged and steep. Covered in wet snow, as it is now, it's especially slippery. There are always more maples I could tap but getting close to them with the loader and gathering tank is the problem. Not to mention the precarious nature of totting pails full of sap across frozen side-hill. Maple sugaring; all the thrills and spills of a three ring circus.

Last week I was up to my ankles in sticky mud on a very different side-hill, one in Tuscany. I was assessing a property for possible stone art sites. On the first day I clambered down a stream bed and up a wooded draw, getting a perspective on the place and surroundings. After speaking with the property owners about their future plans, including the planting of a vineyard and olive grove, I developed two ideas for incorporating dry stone in the landscape. For the next day and a half I worked up scale models out of stone and mud. I find that sketching three-dimensionally helps me think through the process of designing an art work. The practical considerations inform the abstract ones, and vise versa. The model in the photo, above, was made to illustrate the idea of using a spiraling stone and wood ramp as a way to move vertically in the landscape.

The property owners are in the process of transforming the ruin of an old grain mill into a home for themselves. The roof had to be stripped off and new "old" timbers added. The head carpenter on the site cleans up a purlin beam with his bill hook, photo below. 

Another worker operates the overhead crane used to lift materials from the ground to the roof.

Over the three days I spent on site I was able to watch a fascinating construction, and de-construction process. A building that has undergone centuries of use and reuse, is once again re-purposed.

Etruscan Ruins

Defining an ancient civilization by the way it buried its dead is like summing up an individual's life by describing the way he or she died. Its not a very comprehensive story. But in the case of the Etruscans we can make a good guess about the way they lived because they sent their dead off to a world they hoped would be similar to the one they'd departed. Even with funerary objects being the only things we have to judge them by we can be sure the Etruscans had a pretty good time while here on earth. Paintings on tomb walls depict gala parties. Finely crafted housewares and adornments were placed next to and on the bodies of the deceased, ready for use, if only symbolically, in the next life. Archaeological excavations in many parts of Italy have uncovered fantastic examples of tomb architecture. The Necropolis at Cerveteri, 30 miles northwest of Rome, is a wonderland of carved and built stone tombs. Wandering through acres of cemetery, laid out like a city full of streets and houses, I felt like a visitor in the dream of an Etruscan's after-life.

Successful DSWA Test Day in Hinesburg, VT

Two days of dry stone activities recently took place in balmy Hinesburg, Vermont. While it was snowing outside, inside the greenhouse conditions couldn't have been finer. Seven professional wallers got together on Friday to exchange ideas on guide frame techniques.

On Saturday, DSWA certification scheme tests were conducted by me and Michael Weitzner. We examined three Level Two testers and one Level One. Each candidate constructed 27 sq.' of free-standing wall. Level Two stints included a vertical wall end in the construction. After a grueling seven hour session, all candidates received passing marks for their stints.

Many thanks to Charley McMartin for organizing the venue and to Troy Hendrick for acting as site steward.
Professional wallers came from New Hampshire, New Jersey and Ontario, Canada for testing. Congratulations to Wayne Lamarre, Dan Lupino, Dean McLellan and Reid Snow for gaining Dry Stone Walling Association of Great Britain craftsman certificates.

The Mystery of Etruria

Odd as it may be, my looking forward to a project usually starts with looking back. In the case of my going to Italy next week to begin conversations with a new client, I find myself looking way back. And there the questions arise.

How can it be that a civilisation that lasted one thousand years, and founded itself on the concepts, methods and progress of the Greeks, left no examples of its own literature behind? The Etruscan language had no written form before the Greek alphabet was adopted in 700 BC. From then on their stories, myths and fables were recorded, but on a nearly ephemeral material; paper. Such was the nature of the Etruscans, they had a fondness for the transitory. Their religion and art reflected the mutability of life.

While their painting and sculpture was the only contemporary classical art apart from the Greek, most of that is gone, too. Were did all the art of Etruria go? In the case of its bronze sculpture, including pieces reportedly more than 50' tall, we know that it was tossed into the melting pot to make weapons. And who would have committed such a heinous, cultural crime? Who else but those dastardly Romans.

In the early days of the Roman empire Etruscan literature was still alive. The Roman aristocracy sent their sons to Etruria to learn the Etruscan tongue and lore. Roman comedy was based on Etruscan. But the Romans had a serious inferiority complex. Their solution to the problem was to dominate by invasion. Where the Etruscans traditionally exported produce and imported art, the Romans exported soldiers and imported slaves.

A people who housed themselves in modest wood-framed buildings, the Etruscans entombed their dearly departed in elaborate stone chambers carved from the bedrock limestone. There are a half-million tombs in southern Etruria. Many, even today, double as wine cellars and chicken coops. Much of what's known of Etruscan life comes from its painted representation on tomb walls. Etruscan women had a considerable degree of equality. Women spectated at athletic competitions and hosted drinking parties. Children were given both their mother and father's last name.

My main attraction to the Etruscans is their use of dry stone. The Romans adapted many of their methods of canalization. Corbelling was a much used building method in Etruria, especially in the north. I'm sure I'd be impressed by any civilization that flourished without using cement but Etruria has to be my favorite simply because of where it was located; the beautiful region of Italy now known as Tuscany.

Reflections on the Roof

Brancussi, Noguchi and Nevelson are names synonymous with Modern sculpture. Contemporary figures include Serra, Bourgeois and Goldsworthy. Some of their best works are represented at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. On a recent visit there I had the chance to examine and compare many fine pieces. Some were old favorites while others were new to me.

Andy Goldsworthy's "Roof" is on the ground level of the East Building. It's an outdoor sculpture viewed only through glass walls from two levels inside the building. A portion of the work jumps the glass barrier onto the lobby floor. The plate glass slices through two of the nine, dry-stacked, hollow domes. Overall I found it to be a compelling piece, but with reservations.

The radical integration with the building (an elegant design by architect I.M. Pei) was an unsuccessful illusion, to my eye. The two interior bumps look forlorn by themselves and remind me of shopping mall decoration. A better example of the intended effect would be the the way one of Noguchi 's sculpture is displayed at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. There, only the base of the piece shares indoor-outdoor space. My second criticism of the piece has to do with a small detail in the finish. The edge-facing of the Buckingham Virginia slate was natural-cleft (either as it came from the quarry or broken into preferred shapes by the craftsmen) except in a very few places where it was trimmed with a cut-off saw after the construction was completed. I'm guessing that the artist saw a bump in the line of the dome profile that made him unhappy and had it "fixed" by sawing off the offending bits. The contrast between the two edge finishes is subtle but noticeable. Once I saw it I could not stop seeing it. The attempt to improve the piece had in the end the opposite effect.

Kudos to the four UK dry stone wallers who crafted the sculpture. Slate is a difficult stone to work due to its tendency to shatter and fracture when being trimmed and split. The craftsmen took the material to its limits in this construction. They're to be commended for their outstanding achievement.

Gadgets and Grindstones

I've always been an admirer of gadgets. A hand-pump that sucks the air out of an uncorked bottle of wine to reseal it for pouring another day is a cool gadget in my estimation. Another recent acquisition that qualifies as an awesome gadget is my new iPhone. While traveling through New Jersey not long ago I typed "museum" into the "Yelp!" app and saw that there was a Gustav Stickley Museum just off the highway. Five minutes later Elin and I were walking the grounds of the Craftsman Farms that Stickley established in 1908. He was a leading spokesman for the Arts and Crafts Movement and a furniture designer and manufacturer. The Craftsman Farms was meant to be a showcase for the "fine plainness" in art and living that he espoused. In the patio outside the main house of the museum was a stone artifact that caught my attention; a mill stone. It's not unusual to see old grind stones re-purposed as yard ornaments but this one was unique for being made from a number of stones banded together with a steel rim. Most mill stones that I've seen are monolithic. Perhaps the type of stone used for this wheel was too brittle to be quarried in large blocks. I thought it was a clever way to create a large wheel from small pieces. Ingenuity is to be admired whether it's in an iPhone or a grind stone.

Anticipating a Trip

The next best thing to travel is the anticipation of a trip. Next month I'm off to Italy for work, and for me that's an even more exciting prospect than if I were going there on vacation. The land and light that inspired the art of the Renaissance shines on. I intend to steep myself in both.

For now, I'm cloistered in the college library, reading up on Tuscan history, pouring over bookplates of Etruscan antiquities and investigating the geology of the region. There's a thrill that comes from cracking the covers of a book that just can't be found in an "online" quest for information. A book holds its author in benign captivity. He or she is held in suspended animation between the pages until the reader sets them free. Though they may be long dead, they're voice comes alive through the printed word.

Adrian Stokes wrote a book titled "Stones of Rimini," published in 1934. He was an Englishman besot by Italian culture. He became particularly enamored of panels in the Tempio at Rimini carved by an artist named Agostino di Duccio. They are the main subject of his rather eccentric book but not what attracted me to his writing. Stokes was crazy about the qualities of Italian limestone. His praise for Agostino has more to do with the way he handled the stone than it did for his compositional skills. In Stokes' words, "A figure carved in stone is fine carving when one feels that not the figure, but the stone through the medium of the figure, has come to life." He bemoaned the fact that, in his lifetime, stone had lost it's place as the preeminent building material of architecture. I fully concur with his sentiment, "...so far as stone loses its use as a construction material, it loses also power over the imagination." I'm going to Italy to touch stone, and give my imagination a good stirring.

Archer's Pavilion - Part 3

Even though the Archers Pavilion was made to look like a tent it was never intended to be a shelter. Rain would be allowed to pass straight through the joints between its roof stones. I approached the project as a sculpture, that is, a non-functional object. All the same, it was imperative it should be structurally sound. The form I wanted to make had to be more than just a pile of stones in the shape of a tent, its strength to stand, and endure, must be realized as an expression of its method of construction.

In woodworking, finger joints are used to interlock two pieces of lumber lengthwise. You can see how this principle works by sliding the fingers of one hand into the space between the fingers of the other. The further they go in the tighter they get because the additional surface contact increases friction. Technically speaking, the Archers Pavilion is a towering collection of finger joints. Each stone was slid down into the space between its neighbors. As a course of vertical stones was set, the strength of the preceding course was strengthened. Every “finger” added friction.

The “saw tooth” technique was further employed on the horizontal axis of the construction. The depth that stones were set into the heart of the wall alternated, creating a second matrix of friction surfaces between exterior and interior wall stones.

The creative concept behind Archers Pavilion has proved viable. Ten years after its execution, the piece still stands as it was built. If I was to do something differently building it a second time it would be to have the footing hole dug by machine. I dug it by hand the first time because I was anxious to get started and couldn’t wait for an excavator. But it meant I didn’t go very deep (I hate shoveling). With an excavator or backhoe to do the digging I would put a 4’ deep crushed stone footing under the construction. The Archers Pavilion sits on an 18” deep pad of crushed stone, not really enough to ensure a frost-free base. 

Archer’s Pavilion - Part 2

Sean Adcock has been showing “Stone Rising” to groups of stone enthusiasts in the UK. He tells me that of all the work featured in the video, Archer Pavilion elicits the strongest reaction. I’ve been reading “Stones of Rimini” by Adrian Stokes. He writes, “Poets possess the insight with which to re-create subjectively the unconscious fantasies that are general.” His words are the perfect summation of why works of art fascinate.

To continue with Sean’s questions about the making of Archer’s Pavilion I’d like to explore its inspiration for a moment. Looking back, I remember being shown a list of stone walling words and terms compiled by Nick Aitkin, a Scottish waller friend. The word “knapper” was defined as a person assigned to break large stone into small for rural road building. When I looked further into the term I found it also applied to someone who shaped arrowheads from flint. That got me looking at the history of arrows and medieval warfare. Archers on a campaign would bivouac for the night in canvas tents with conical roofs. Thousands of them would be set up on an open plain. It was words that led me to imagine what a stone tent would look like standing in a field.

To review what constituted the “technical bits” that went into the making of Archers Pavilion I must conjure up my old dump truck. The frame of the dump bed was made of box steel channel. For the inventive mind, that meant I had a vise for cold bending 5/8” reinforcing rod on site. I fashioned a 20’ length of steel into the profile I wished the pavilion to take and then copied it six times, bending each profile to match the first. Those I wired to two circles of steel rod that defined the bottom and top rims of what was to be the tent side-walls. With the seven profile rods meeting at the middle top I had the outline of the exterior of the shape I wanted to make. The inside shape, or hollow, was defined by pieces of string pulled from near the top, to a 5’ diameter circle on the ground, forming a conical interior space when the piece was completed.

Archer’s Pavilion

Sean Adcock, editor of Stonechat, the newsletter of the DSWA North Wales branch, has asked me to write something about the Archer’s Pavilion for an upcoming issue; its inspiration, technical bits, how I approached it, and what if anything I'd do differently. Here are my first thoughts on the subject, with more to come in the days ahead.

Since it was completed in 2001, the landscape feature titled “Archer’s Pavilion” in Newfane, Vermont has elicited a lot of curiosity and questions about its design and construction. I’d like to discuss specifics of those two elements of the piece but before I do I want to mention something about what I consider the third leg in its creation. It would not be standing today if not for its patrons, Barbara and Ernie Kafka. Without their wish to initiate a work on their property and their complete openness to its being of a design of my choosing I could not have conceived of the Archer’s Pavilion. Their simple request, to make something, was a huge leap forward in my creative process. Willing and trusting clients are to be cherished. Without them there are no real-world fantasies, only castles in the sky.

My particular brand of fantasy relies on real time and real space to develop. Once I have a clear mandate to proceed with a site, the desire to create rushes in. It stokes the engine that turns design ideas into building programs. The physical task of moving and placing tons of stone is sometimes difficult and always time consuming but it is made light work by the desire to manifest a dream. Desire blows life into stone.