The Mexican , Number Two, The Amateur and Goldy Locks

Admiring the view on Albert Docks
Admiring the view on Albert Docks

The Mexican Andy Moss picked up Martijn Rijerse from the airport expecting a short and rude Dutchman with a dark complexion, ready to drive for one unbearable hour to Liverpool where we were to make a sculpture in collaboration with TATE Liverpool’s Picasso exhibition organised by Walk the Plank. Instead, The Mexican found Martijn to be polite, reserved, tall and fair.  I am glad to say that this facade doesn’t last long and is occasionally shattered as Martijn has some form of mild torrets, some say that he is autistic, others say that he just has a very complex humour; either way he cannot help himself from saying what should not be said.  When I noticed a cut on a friends hand a few months ago, Martijn asked him “Was that a leaving present from your wife?”  Our friend was in the process of getting a divorce.  But other than that he’s an exceptionally nice person.  Unfortunately for him we had spent last week in Scotland with the indefatigable and exceptionally talented Dan Glover and The Mexican could not stop reminiscing about our ‘working holiday’ in Scotland with him.  Martijn had a lot to live up to and I was quick to dub him Number Two.

It soon became clear however that this was not going to be the case.  Martijn in small doses began to reveal his humour and charm our moustachioed Mexican with his dry wit.  On my complimenting Martijn on his knowledge of form making he casually brushed aside my comment and announced simply “It’s the basics Jamie, the basics.”  I from that moment lost all credibility with my team and am now know as The Amateur. I have been doing this for seven years now, but there is always something to be learnt from a Trojan like Martijn whose incredible skill is born of 13 years in the sand carving business.  There is a hint of talent there as well.

Martijn Rijerse with the beginnings of the Picasso face
Martijn Rijerse with the beginnings of the Picasso face

James and Martijn getting to know each other
James and Martijn getting to know each other

Even Goldy Locks was impressed.  Goldy Locks is otherwise known as James Haigh my lifetime friend.  The Mexican dubbed him with this name on account of him never been satisfied with anything.  ‘This chair is too soft, and this chair is too hard, this porridge is too salty, this porridge too sweet, this chicken is too seasoned, and this chicken is too plain.’  Goldy Locks’s motto in life is that ‘if everyone thought like him then everything would be all right as he is always right.’  On getting a curry he proudly announced that “We are from Bradford and have high standards when it comes to curry.”  I could see on the waiters face that he was thinking ‘well I am from India and I have high standards when it comes to curry as well.’  Unfortunately for our Indian friend, his standards were not as high as Goldy Locks’s, James had to order extra green chillies to spice things up and when the waiter asked if he liked them James replied with a dead pan stare and said “They add flavour.”  One of his favourite comments after a meal was “I’m not paying for that!”  I would then look over to him and reply, “I know you’re not James, that’s because I’m paying for it.”

"He did what!"

"He did what!"

However, when it came to servicing Martijn everything was different and Goldy Locks had found his perfect bowl of porridge.  I could not believe my ears when after Martijn asked James for some help, he replied: “For you Martijn, anything.”  I have known James from the moment he was born and he has never said that to me.  Perhaps I can one day be as an amazing person as Martijn Rijerse.

Picasso sand faces

Picasso sand faces

So we battled on through rain and wind in front of Liverpool’s Liver building, listening to the endless lyrics of ‘A Ferry across the Mersy’ hailing from the ferry that was crossing the Mersey.  We had the most water hungry sand imaginable which was a problem as we didn’t have mains water for the first part.  We made use of a triangular sculpture so that each of us could have a side to carve on whilst Goldy locks helped out along the way, baying to Martijn’s every need.

Martijn's Picasso sand sculpture in front of the Liver building

Martijn's Picasso sand sculpture in front of the Liver building

Number Two of course made a Picasso master piece and parted with all his knowledge on sand carving with the Mexican who is a newcomer to the sand world.  This elevated him to Number 1 in The Mexican’s eyes.  Sorry Dan Glover, glory is short lived. The Mexican made a very good piece himself as you will judge.  I formally introduce Andy Moss into the Sand world.  I made Picasso’s Dove of Peace which was nice enough when in the company of Gods.

After finishing we had a celebratory ice cream and said our goodbyes to the sculpture which was to be demolished the next day.  I am still awaiting the film of our good friend Ben the site manager trying to demolish the sculpture by running through it with his impressive 180 kilos or 20 stone.  I did inform him that the sculpture weighed 60,000 kilos but he was not to be deterred and bounced off the sculpture at 07:30 the next day.  This is a film I would like to see.

Andy Moss and Picasso

Andy Moss and Picasso

The sandinyoureye team with the dove of Peace

The sandinyoureye team with the dove of Peace

Thanks to all those involved and to Walk the Plank for having us.

Jamie

Down to my Underpants

Jamie and the Jellyfish

Jamie and the Jellyfish

I was wading through the water testing the jellyfish with my toes, quite confident that they were not going to sting me but not enough to be bold, still tentative and ready yelp like a girl if I was stung.  But they were harmless, these jellyfish were the clear disk type that were to be marvelled over as they pulsated in shoals to the shore.  I embraced the cold water of Crail Harbour in Scotland, revitalised by the chill as I dipped my head under the surface and by the perfume of seaweed at low tide.  The sun was on my back as I swam, absorbing my good fortunes at having such opportunities like this whilst at work, and such good old and new friends keeping an eye on me from the shore.  As I swam under the water our sand sculpture was standing half finished in the village centre of Crail.  We had been asked by Svend Brown from the East Neuk Music Festival to make a train as a symbol of the history of the region where upon there was once a train line bringing droves of people to these shores.  It was also a visual representation of the festival itself, bringing the festival out of the concert halls and into the streets.

My head popped out of the water and I drew breath.  Whilst under I had hit a rock and grazed my shoulder, swimming amongst the jagged rocks at low tide was not the best place to be for a land lover.  As I came to shore Jade, a Scottish lass who works for the festival was just leaving the beach to go back to work.  With her red hair she is one of the prettiest Gingers I have ever met and it always brightened our day to see her beaming smile in the morning.  I stood there in front of her, stripped down to my underpants with a bleeding shoulder and wished her on her way.

Andy Moss and Dan Glover sunning on the rocks in their ridiculous hats.

Andy Moss and Dan Glover sunning on the rocks in their ridiculous hats.

As beauty walked off the beach I walked on towards my brothers in arms eating their lunch on the rocks.  As I approached, Dan Glover from America and Andy Moss who is now labelled the Mexican, were mocking me as I limped over the shells with the grace of a drunk, Dan then complaining that he couldn’t see on account of the glare coming from my white skin.  But they were unable to mock me deeply as they looked so entirely ridiculous themselves, Andy with his Pink Sombrero and black mustachio, and Dan with his Chinese style peaked hat.  I had a cowboy hat and together we were the Three Amigos.  I put on my hat and laid on a rock in my underpants so that the sun could dry me.  On sitting down I was fortunate enough to catch Dan on a rant: now that he had sampled Haggis he had to take the next step and buy a kilt in honour of his Glover ancestors that came from Scotland and then became plantation owners in America.  Apparently the Glovers were ‘good slave owners’ which is why so many slaves took the name on emancipation; this comment which was meant in the best possible taste led to days worth of relentless mockery from me and Andy.  And his pursuit of a kilt was yet another example of North Americans trying to claw back some culture that is more than 250 years old!  It was so good to have Dan there, we are fortunate that he has such a good humour and was not too perturbed by the choice of t-shirts I had given him, one that was so big it made him look like he was wearing a nightly and the other being so tight that he looked like the hulk in miniature.  But then Dan countered with the fact that the 4th July was coming up and that we could all jump.

Crail Harbour

Crail Harbour

It is one of the great pleasures with sand sculpture that there are occasionally moments when people meet from across the globe who would have otherwise not met, and I am pleased to say that I think Dan from America and Andy from Yorkshire are to be lifelong friends. Dan reminds me of the manic toad from Wind In The Willows, he is so funny and has undaunting enthusiasm, whereas Andy is like Badger ready to mock him down and in his words “Outdan Dan.”   I’m not sure if they should meet too often as the resulting dark humour may get them into some trouble.  On his return home Dan was hankered by his wife for his vulgar language.  A real kinship was born in Crail.

Jade applying the finishing touches

Jade applying the finishing touches

As we ate our lunch Craig who is a steward for the festival came to eat with us and informed us that the BBC were waiting for us by the sculpture.  Usually this would cause me to jump to attention, but this day was so bizarre that I was to enjoy finishing my lunch.  Since 8am that morning we had had a frenzy of photographers and news crews streaming all over the sculpture and us one after the other.   I was not to carve anything until four thirty that afternoon.  I am certainly no model but enjoy posing in front of the camera like some Leonardo or chattering my Yorkshire on the telly.  It is always a cringing moment though when the photographers ask the other sculptors to stand aside so that they can take a photo of just me working on a piece of the sculpture that I had not made.  My credit to Dan and Andy for not breaking my legs whilst I was asleep.

Jamie and Graham from the Honey Pot Cafe

Jamie and Graham from the Honey Pot Cafe

But the press frenzy which was reflected in the papers and news the next day was not a reflection of the sculpture, but of the festival it represented and the hard work of Debra Boraston who is the media dynamo for the festival.  It reflected the toil of the whole team who work the festival, many in their holiday time from normal jobs in the pursuit of quality in the arts and the joy of music; a vision I feel of the director Svend and his associates.

The A-Team waiting to catch a train

The A-Team waiting to catch a train

One thing that I did not anticipate was the hospitality of the people of the village Crail, who embraced us with open arms, Graham who let us dump 20 tonnes of dirt outside his cafe the Honey pot and complained not, only giving us coffee and the best carrot cake in Britain made by Edna; try it if you go there.  And a special thank you to Dorothy, a lady who on our first evening when I enquired “Do you have gravy with Haggis?” replied “Ach no, but you may sprinkle a dram of whiskey over it.”  At this she got up from off her stool and paced over to her house only to return with one of Scotlands finest single malts.  “Enjoy it on your Haggis, there’s enough there for a wee tipple afterwards as well!”  And indeed there was.

Jamie

Welcome to Finland

Quality time with Donald

Quality time with Donald

“I’ve left my passport on the plane.”

This was my conclusion after searching my bag and pockets to no avail.  I had just landed in Helsinki airport but wasn’t too deterred as there were two attractive women sitting at the Finnair lounge just waiting to save my bacon.  I placed my hat on the desk as though I was here to stay until the matter was resolved.

The lady at the desk was bewildered and then hypnotised me for a moment with her magnificent eyes, pool blue with a dark rim to frame the delicate light tones as though she’d gone round them with a pencil.

“……What?”  She had asked me a question whilst I was swimming.

“Where did you fly from?”  She looked up at me directly from her seat .  I regained my composure.

“Leeds, uh, n…., Londo…., ah yes, Manchester.”  My composure had failed me.  “Yes, Manchester.  I was seat 19 A.”  Remembering my seat number immediately filled me with renewed confidence and I could not disguise my pride as a well deserved smirk crept from my mouth.  “What is your name?” “Jamie Wardley”  I remembered that OK.  She smiled.

“Okay, we will need to find it or else you will not be able to get out of the airport, there is security just down the corridor, but then they won’t start cleaning the plane until later.”  I was beginning to feel that I was to spend quite a bit of time in the company of this young lady for all the wrong reasons.  She rummaged around her keyboard and then picked up the phone and began to babble in Finnish.  She got up from her desk and was obviously trying to get hold of the right person, one of her contacts on the ground no doubt.  She then began to pace up and down and I followed her with my eyes which wasn’t a chore.  Occasionally she would give me a neutral glance as if to say all is under control.  And then she went into the back office and everything changed.  She came out pulling all kinds of faces which weren’t encouraging.  There was a slight pause in her babbling so I took the opportunity to give more information:

“…..There was a newspaper on my seat and the passport will be under that.”  This I was sure of.

“What was the newspaper?”

“It was the ….Daily Mail.”  My memory was in overdrive, “In fact there may have been a book with it as well,” my god I was on a roll.  Oh dear, I had left my book.

There was renewed hope in her voice at my new information but then this gradually faded away as she began to pull faces again accompanied by babbling, starring at me with those deep blue eyes as though I should understand something.  This was not good.  I began to fondle my hat still sat on the desk.  There was a bar down the way.  I had only 5 euros.

She pulled a face and with an apologetic grimace said “They cannot find your passport.”  I mumbled an appropriate expletive under my breath at the thought of been an airport refugee, wandering around in the same underpants for weeks on end until a new passport could be issued; and only 5 euros to my name.

And then the other rather more humiliating possibility dawned on me.   I could feel my bag next to my feet.  ”….maybe I have it?” The girl looked at me with a tilted head expressing her thought that ‘maybe you do.’   I leant down and slowly unzipped a pocket.  Three week old underpants and 5 euros were looking more and more appealing.  I had already checked this pocket earlier and was now hoping not to find it.  As I peeled back the fabric there was revealed a clutter of items, wallets, hard drives and a small burgundy book with the emblem of my protector her majesty the Queen of England plastered across it.  Oh dear.  I pulled it out and held it in my hand sheepishly.

By this time the girl with the pool blue eyes had come round my side of the desk and gave a roar of laughter, I indulged in a slight moment of humiliation and then shrugged off my shame and merrily joined in laughing at myself. I’m quite fortunate that I don’t dwell too much on my foolish mistakes as I make so many of them.  Practice makes perfect I always say.  Just before I made my farewells she checked me with her blue eyes for the last time.  I paused to take in the moment and then realised that she was testing me to see if I would remember my straw hat neatly propped on the table.  I had not.   She took it and placed it on my head.  “Welcome to Finland!” she said with delight and another roar of laughter.  How to make an impression by JS Wardley.

I smiled my broadest smile, “Thank you very much.” I was back in my second home.

Jamie

P.s  A sculpture I have made since I’ve been here:)

Me and m'new mate pterry

Me and m'new mate pterry

The Pterodactyl, can yo see the baby tricerotops?

The Pterodactyl, can yo see the baby tricerotops?

A coffee with contentment and a spoon full of sand

It was the late afternoon and we had stopped off at a motorway station on our way back from two days in Liverpool for a coffee.  We were in the outside garden, sprawled out on plastic chairs, the tranquillity of our mood not disturbed by the cars speeding by on the motorway behind the thin veneer of trees.  I looked across the table at Andy Firth and then Andy Moss.  Mr Firth was sat back with his eyes closed and face raised to the sky, his café latte in hand and mouth moving ever so slightly as he savoured the taste of it.  Mr Moss with his long black hair and moustache wore a downward gaze and cradled his French style long espresso; reminiscent of a holiday in Paris.  The thing that struck me so profoundly as I sat there watching them both was that here were two people dressed in the robes of utter contentment.  A peace within that needs no words or grand gestures, just a very comfortable silence that had been so well deserved.

Picasso's dove of Peace by sandinyoureye and Holly Lodge School

Picasso's dove of Peace by sandinyoureye and Holly Lodge School

This moment of serenity had come by collaborating with two Liverpool Schools and sharing with them a day drawing in the sand on the great beach of Crosby surrounded by the ubiquitous sculptures of Antony Gormley.  These schools were Calderstones and Holly Lodge respectively, full of kids with charisma who like a small army of ants swept onto this huge beach and made two most wonderful pieces of art.  I thank them for their efforts and two great days spent on the beach with them.  I hope they didn’t ache too much afterwards.

The Dancer sand drawing made by sandinyoureye and Calderstones school

The Dancer sand drawing made by sandinyoureye and Calderstones school

Also, thanks to the lovely Kathy Haywood who with great spirit marched us on and adorned the every so grateful Mr Moss with his Mexican sombrero with pink decoration; he will treasure it always.  And thanks to the chaps from River Media who were undaunted by the challenges of the scissor lift and were so patient with our bizarre choreography.  I look forward to seeing the films.

Jamie

JACK JOHNSON – TO THE SEA sand drawing film

This is the film dedicated to the UK’s largest beach sand drawing as commissioned by Island Records for Jack Johnson’s new album ‘To the Sea’.  It is also a very nice track by Mr Johnson I must say.  It is called “You and your heart.”  The film was made by the most talented Finnian Varney of aberration films.  The sand drawing was of course made by us at sandinyoureye with special thanks to Andy and Helen for a terrific job organiseing everything whilst I was galavanting around Holland making the himalayas out of 250 tonnes of sand.  I did make a nice Hare though if I do say so myself.

If you want to read the diary from the day then go to the blog page

800 meters long, 90 meters deep

800 meters long, 90 meters deep

I would like to thank the team for a very hard, but very good days work.  Nice one

The sandinyoureye team.  From left to right: Ra Horgan, Richard Bottomley, Jamie Wardley, Andy Firth, Jason Lynn, Jo Billingsley, Tim Curtis, Jonny Sayers, James Haigh, Mark Yates, Warzier Mirza, Goran Namiq, Andy Moss.  And not featured, Helen Tidswell, Finn Varney, Louis Waller, The Munson.

The sandinyoureye team. From left to right: Ra Horgan, Richard Bottomley, Jamie Wardley, Andy Firth, Jason Lynn, Jo Billingsley, Tim Curtis, Jonny Sayers, James Haigh, Mark Yates, Warzier Mirza, Goran Namiq, Andy Moss. And not featured, Helen Tidswell, Finn Varney, Louis Waller, The Munson.

Jamie

Jack Johnson Beach Sand Drawing – To The Sea

800 meters long, 90 meters deep

800 meters long, 90 meters deep

Jonny Sayers was looking concentrated and trying to find James Haigh in the binoculars 800 meters away so that they could sight a straight line over the distance and tell the rest of the team where to put the guide string that was essential to the sand drawing.  Communications were being zipped down the radios but we seemed to be having serious problems.  There was an uneasy tension in the air.

The smudge is a tractor and the dots are people

The smudge is a tractor and the dots are people

Jonny turned to me: “It’s not working Jamie, they’re putting down the string, but because it is so long it’s not keeping straight and is blowing away in the wind.”   The whole process was taking far too much time and we were already behind with it.  Without a base line, all the measurements of the drawing are flawed and it is pretty much ruined.  The sea was humming with an 8ft swell, reminding us that it was still there and would be turning around in three hours to pursue us.  It was now 11am.

I looked down the line and could see what Jonny was referring to, the string just bowed out about 10 meters. “OK, this isn’t working.”  Our plan was drastically flawed.  I searched for my radio: “James, this is Jamie, are you receiving over?”

“Yes….we’re having problems with this baseline Jamie” James is not easily perturbed but I could feel the urgency in his voice.

“I know, the baseline isn’t working, send everyone back to this part of the beach, you stay where you are.”

James then came in on the radio again: “Send everyone back?”

I paused, taking another thought on what I was doing, I pressed the receiver, “Yes, send everyone back, but you stay where you are.”  At this moment I saw an attractive young woman hovering behind me.  I had seen her on her telephone earlier and Andy Firth who is our new technical manager had identified her as our contact from Island Records.  I had not yet met or even spoken to her as Andy had taken care of everything whilst I was in Holland.  She was the person who was commissioning the project and who had hired a helicopter to take a photograph of the image on completion that would read TO THE SEA – JACK JOHNSON, with the release date beneath.

I turned back to Jonny Sayers.  “Jonny, when everyone gets back we’re going to just measure and place in the markers for the drawing directly, without the string as reference.  Use that flag pole to sight on, we don’t need the string.”

I turned around to the young woman. “Hello, you must be Olivia.  I am Jamie.”

After I’d assured her that everything was fine I went about trying to explain to our team of 14 that we were abandoning the original plan and using another method.  It is a very daunting moment to turn away from what you know into the unknown when there is no time to think, just do.  So off went the team with a new task; I kept back the teams of Jo Billingsley and Andy Moss.  Andy Moss is a man beaming with friendliness and indefatigable energy that you would not tell at first glance with his handle bar moustache, piercing eyes and Brian May flowing black hair.  “Mr Moss, I need you to make the line by the sea opposite the base line, forget the measurements we don’t have enough time, just do it by eye.”  His eyes widened a little at the prospect of not measuring, but then settled again to the task ahead, eyebrows narrowing in acknowledgement to take on the challenge.  And so off he went carrying in hand his red plastic bag of worldly goods in place of his electric guitar.   I needed Jo Billinglsey and Jason Lynn to start with the actual drawing.  She had the first letter to make which was a T, 50 meters in length and 30 meters wide.  In total this image was going to be 800 meters long and 90 meters deep.  The first drawing we ever made was 20 meters long and 15 meters wide, and here we were attempting to make something that was 240 times bigger than the one we originally did only three years ago.  At this moment it seemed impossible and the pressure of contracts being broken and helicopters flying over an empty beach was looming.  But we were not going to give up that easily:

“Jo, get your drawing materials together, sticks, rakes, measuring tapes and guide lines.”  She nodded with her characteristic enthusiasm and went off with Jason to gather her weapons.  The drawing phase had begun.

It was not a surprise to me when I saw that this too was too slow.  Jo is extremely talented, but I had laboured her with a method that relied too much on guide lines and measurements.  I glanced around to see how the base line was going; currently the whole team except Jo’s was absorbed in it.  It was now 11:30 and we should have started drawing an hour ago, low tide was at 14:20.  Each letter now needed to be made in only half an hour, a frightening task.  I looked on at Jo and Jason, with determination they cracked on, but the speed in which they could work seemed futile; we would not finish the drawing in time.  All this use of measuring tapes and pink lines was slowing things down.

A lesson that I once learnt with sand sculpture in my early days dawned on me.  I once made a 400 tonne Mayan temple and measured everything implicitly.  My colleagues mocked me for this, saying, ‘why don’t you just use the length of one of your tools to measure with.’  I looked at a rake lying redundantly on the sand and promptly measured it.  1.5 meters long, I couldn’t believe it. This was perfect as most of the measurements were multiples of 3’s.  I then started measuring small distances with only my rake, placed in a marker stick and then measured in another marker that was 50 meters away to the bottom of the letter.  The previous method was then to place a string in between the markers to give a straight line to rake by.  But could I draw a straight line over that distance without a guide string?  We had no other choice, this had to work.  I boldly took my rake and attempted to draw straight over 50 meters, keeping my eyes on the little stick stuck in the ground 50 meters away. Finally I reached it and with an intake of breath looked back over the line I had just made. Unbelievable.  A little bendy, but of no consequence, the tractor would take care of that.  I placed in more markers and travelled the distances, in 8 minutes I had made the letter H unaided with only the use of a rake and map.  It suddenly dawned on me that I was surrounded by brilliant artists who did not need string.  “Jo!, forget the string, just draw!”

From this point on the tables turned.  Jo rapidly took charge of the new technique and promptly finished the letter T with ease.  I was finally able to awaken the dormant beast of the tractor that had been waiting quietly for its moment in the shade of the cliffs.  With a nod to its master the tractor roared into life and drew up its mighty form beside me with its giant rake in tow.  The master opened the door and I said “Just rake between the lines.”  The master nodded, closed the cab door, and with a roar the tracker sped off and began to paint between the lines, tearing up the beach as it went.  We were over an hour behind, but the first brush stroke had been made.

I grabbed my rake and began to make the letter E.  Afterwards, I called on the radio to have everyone return to me once the baseline had been completed.  The great Mark Yates and his team had already begun the letters that had curves using an entirely different technique and this at least was a great success.  They were flying along in their steady way.  Soon Warzier Mirza, Andy Firth and Andy Moss returned to me.  I showed them the new method.

The look of despair that had painted our faces earlier was suddenly replaced by hope and the realization that we did have a slim chance of doing this.

“That’s a piece of piss Jamie!” cheered Andy Moss.

“It is, forget the strings and measuring tapes.  Just draw.”  I was fortunate at this point also by the people I was surrounded by.  In times of hopelessness some people will simply give up on a project that is seemingly doomed to failure, whereas others will simply get on with it in the hope that I or another will think of something and that we will prevail.  I am a very lucky man as my team is full of these kinds of people and it is a quality that I look for in a person.  To this end we had not lost too much time and our new methods could save us.

The writing from the cliff

The writing from the cliff

Two hours later and I got a radio message from Andy Firth.  He seemed anxious.  We were by this stage almost finished with the drawing phase: “Jamie, are you receiving over?”

“This is Jamie, receiving over.”  I began running towards Andy Firth who had been doing a great job of co-ordinating the team.  He was currently working on the numbers that were the date below the letters and quite close to the sea, he was not far away

“Jamie, I’m worried about this tide”.  This I could see on his face as I came closer, usually so calm Andy looked genuinely worried and strained.  I clipped the radio onto my belt as we came into shouting distance.

“Me too, the tide was due to turn only ten minutes ago, but it looks to have done so earlier.  It is definitely coming in now.”  The race was on; our great moon orbiting 384 thousand kilometres away was now dragging the sea back up towards us.

I looked behind me to see where the tractor was.  It was doing a fantastic job and had covered so much ground.  My first instinct was that we were doing great but then I looked at the plans and realised that he was only on the end of the first phrase.  The sheer size of this image had tricked me, he had indeed done a vast area, but it was in fact less than half of the drawing.

“What’s our ETA on this?” asked Andy.

“I’m not sure, the sea should stay for a while, but once it turns it will gain momentum and race in.” It was currently only 30 meters away from the bottom of our numbers which themselves had not been completed yet.

Andy looked grim.  A small rake in his hand and this vast area to rake “I’m afraid that the sea will take the numbers before we finish the letters.”

“That could well happen.” I replied.  I reached for my radio.  “This is Jamie to Mark Yates, are you receiving over?”

A calm voice came over the radio.  “Aye Jamie Lad”

“How long have you before you have finished the curved letters?”

“We’re on the last one now”.

“OK, when you’ve finished I need you to come back over here and begin raking.”  It was now all hands on deck.

The moments that passed from then on were filled with running around letters with a rake.  This seemed futile when we had a tractor, but it was making a difference.    I went up to the beast and spoke to its master.  “Time is critical now.  The sea is only 15 meters away from the numbers and we need to finish these letters before it gets them.  At this moment I just need you to rake as much area as you can and we will come after you and fill in the details.”  The master made a sharp nod and shut the cab door, off he went.

We soon finished raking the numbers by hand and I had everyone except Andy Firth charge to the remaining letters.  “Andy, you stay by the numbers and watch the sea.”

“But what if the sea starts to take the numbers before you’ve finished the letters?”

“Then you must call the helicopter.”

And so on we went, all of us charging round raking full 50 meter letters by hand, Mark Yates breaking his with his efforts.  James and Jonny exhausted as they had been cleaning up after the tractor, but still raking on.

Andy Firth came through on the radio.  He was standing by the numbers.  “Jamie, I’ve been measuring how far the sea is coming in every five minutes and we have not got long.  What is our estimated time of finishing?”

“Very soon now.  Make the call Mr Firth.”  Soon, the whole team was on the final letter N raking the sand, only the lone Andy Firth who with his partner Helen had worked so hard organising this whole project was not there.  He was acting as guardian against the sea, willing it to stay at bay for just a few moments whilst the helicopter was scrambled; hoping that it would not take the precious numbers before we finished.  At this moment I looked around me to the faces of those involved and saw sheer delight and disbelief as we were on the eve of achieving what four hours ago seemed utterly impossible.  Although our bodies were aching we raked for the shear enjoyment of it.

And then the hum of our bird in the air.  “Jamie, are you receiving over.”

“Yes Mr Firth, I’m receiving over.”

He was excited. “Look to the sky.”

“I’ve already seen it”

“Have you finished the last letter yet?”

“We have indeed Mr Firth, we have just finished raking the last letter, OVER.”

“WHOOOOOO,”  I couldn’t see him as he was so far away, but I feel he was probably jumping with joy at that moment.

JACK JOHNSON - TO THE SEA 31-05-10

JACK JOHNSON - TO THE SEA 31-05-10

Whilst the helicopter buzzed around we made our way up the cliff to get a glimpse of what we had achieved. On the way up I saw Olivia again with a chap I assumed to be Scott.  I had heard lot from reading the emails between Andy Firth and them but had never written or spoke to them directly.  This is testament to my faith in Andy and Helens ability to run a project with me quietly directing in the background and making plans.  There is no way that this project could have gone ahead without them, I would have simply had to have said no as I was in Holland and couldn’t have prepared for it.  It is great to have a team.  Not just for the practical element, but for the fact that we are able to so readily bounce ideas off each other and encourage one another.  Oliva and Scott were ecstatic by what we had done, and the photographer in the helicopter couldn’t believe what he saw when he came over the horizon.   After shaking hands and saying goodbye we paced up the rest of the hill.  The whole team was already there looking onto our work.  I looked over Jo’s shoulder to see our work.  I could only make out the last three letters of Jack Johnson’s name, not because Jo was in the way, but because it was so big.  S O N is all I could read.  Incredible.

Even though we faced difficulties, we had revolutionised the way of drawing in sand that day.  We have moved onto a new level where the image is so big that you can no longer see the people on the ground, even the bulk of the tractor is hard to make out.  I also learnt a clear lesson brought on by severe pressure.  If the method you are using is not working and will not achieve what you need to achieve, then you must stop using your time on it and think of something else.

The spirit of the sand drawing is overwhelming.  It was only the next afternoon that I actually saw the final image from the helicopter.  It was in my inbox the previous evening, but I was in no hurry to see it and went to bed instead.  I was enthralled with that euphoric feeling that always comes with these drawings, we were totally set against at one point but were not defeated and together overcame the problems and were victorious , it is the journey that you take with the people involved in that moment in time that is the key and the joy.  The image itself is just a very tasty cherry.  Today I spoke to Andy Moss and he said “I still cannot believe that we did it, I just cannot believe it!”

To the Sea! and to everyone that was involved!

The sandinyoureye team.  From left to right: Ra Horgan, Richard Bottomley, Jamie Wardley, Andy Firth, Jason Lynn, Jo Billingsley, Tim Curtis, Jonny Sayers, James Haigh, Mark Yates, Warzier Mirza, Goran Namiq, Andy Moss.  And not featured, Helen Tidswell, Finn Varney, Louis Waller, The Munson.

The sandinyoureye team. From left to right: Ra Horgan, Richard Bottomley, Jamie Wardley, Andy Firth, Jason Lynn, Jo Billingsley, Tim Curtis, Jonny Sayers, James Haigh, Mark Yates, Warzier Mirza, Goran Namiq, Andy Moss. And not featured, Helen Tidswell, Finn Varney, Louis Waller, The Munson.

By the way, I think this was the biggest beach sand drawing in the world.  Heads up on that one if anyone know different.

Jamie

Belle Vita and erupting volcanoes

Belle vita said Uldis just now.  Beautiful life.

Having a chilled beer after work whilst enjoying the sunshine

I’m overlooking the water and there is a group of ash trees in front, the sun has just gone down but it is still warm.  The leaves are just coming out of their delicate buds and the ducks are quacking the last of the daylight away in a lasting attempt to attract some attention. It is the beginning of spring and one of my favourite times of the year; the joy that is life all springing forward anew.  Maybe I like this period of the year in particular as I am also a spring baby.  The bull.

This lovely spot is the outskirts of Roermond, Holland.  I’m lucky to be here as the ash plume from the volcano that erupted in Iceland was only three hours behind my flight; one of the last from the UK to Europe.  It is incredible that all the planes are now grounded.  The earth makes a little burp and everything stops.  Great.

I am enjoying the fact that there are no planes in the sky at the moment, no vapour trails or hum of jet engines.  I’ve even taken to not wearing my earphones all day as the air is somehow clearer of sound and filled with the melody of bird song.  There are now some Coots on the water doing their mating dance, bobbing their heads from side to side and cooting a lot.

 Belle Vita and erupting volcanoes

On the downside there are only half the carvers here for the project.  There should be 30 and there are only 15, but still 8,000 tonnes of sand looms before us unrelenting which means that we have to all carve like crazy for two weeks to finish the project on time.  Hopefully, our colleagues will join us soon if the volcano has a rest.  Some sculptors have driven here, Uldis has just finished a 36 hour bus ride from Riga, Latvia to get here. He has gone to the bar to find his sanity, he just spoke to me for 15 minutes on the cons of polarised glasses; the poor lad is delirious.  Some other chaps drove all the way from Prague, Czech Republic to get here, others all the way from Spain; the troops are mobilising and reinforcements have been called upon.  The great Henry arrived today who I have not seen for five years.

250 tonnes of sand looming

My task is to make a mountain scene.  On this mountain are some mountain goats and to the side a Yak.  A chap from Russia called Ilya who is a sculpting god was supposed to do the mountain with me helping.  The volcano in Iceland has said otherwise as he’s not here.  I’m not sure when Ilya is going to turn up; if at all.  I may have to do this mountain myself which is quite daunting as mountains are typically rather large.  But then what has to be done has to be done. If Ilya does turn up I think he will have a mental breakdown if he sees that I have already started.  There is something entirely de-motivating about finishing or helping to finish someone else’s work. Perhaps it is because you had no say in the creative idea and composition.  I do not envy him.  For the moment I’m just finishing my Yak.  I have made it with two calves or ‘mini cows’ as Anique calls them, because it’s cute and serves the practical purpose of holding up the Yaks head, it would fall off otherwise.  I was a little worried earlier as one of the calf’s began to look like a Rottweiler mauling my Yaks throat.  It now just looks like a ‘mini cow Rottweiler cross’.

sand sculpture yak 4

Am I going to be able to get home to England?  I like Holland, but it is a little flat.  Bring on the rolling hills of Yorkshire.

To volcanoes!

What?  There is a plane in the sky!  I feel like a child again.

Jamie

The Sandinyoureye Team – Have your balls dropped yet?

Last week I got a message from the Sand in your Eye Team.  This is great as I didn’t even write it.

“So have your balls dropped yet?”  This was the question Andy Firth asked of me when I was just thirteen years old, it was my first week at the Big School.  In that first week I had auditioned to be in the school play for a performance called Blood Brothers and had somehow landed a great part of the younger Mickey.  I at that time was very small for my age, very skinny and very ginger, a recipe for disaster.  Fortunately I also had quite a good singing voice which kind of saved my skin in this hard nosed comprehensive city school called Butter Shaw Upper.

Andy Firth Sand Drawer Blood Brothers Buttershaw Business Enterprise College

Andy’s reference to my balls was a very direct way of making a comment about my voice and physical maturity, half jest to the fact that I was still very much just a boy and half compliment as my singing back then was quite something.  I never really knew how to answer this question that Andy seemed to always ask me, but I knew it was just a gentle brotherly jibe.  You see, he had got the part of Mickey as well but at an older age, we were playing one and the same person.  Andy at this time was in his final year at school, five years older than me; dashing, tall, blond, and with all the girls swooning over him.  He looked out for me in that first year and when ever he saw me again afterwards he would always ask: “So have your balls dropped yet?”

Blackpool Sand Drawing Test for the Fleetwood Freeport Sand Drawing

During my final year at school I landed the part of the Dentist in the musical ‘Little Shop of Horrors’  I by this time was very comfortable in the school and was no longer short with high voice, although still very ginger. I had spent many a good year performing in the school plays which set me out with fantastic memories and the wonderful tool of self confidence which is indispensible in public environments .  In this final play I performed as the character of a masochistic womaniser and took great pleasure in thrusting my PVC clad pelvis in front of 300 people every other minute to their horror.  My unfortunate sidekick was Helen Tidswell who played a nurse.  We had to perform an evocative salsaesque dance to show just how sexy I was.  My balls were in fine order by this stage.

It is some years on now, and Andy and Helen now have a family together.  At this moment the three of us are sat eating Fish and Chips, our most glorious and world famous British cuisine that outclasses any Oyster dish.  The occasion is our weekly meeting to discuss the Sandinyoureye world, as Andy and Helen are now very much part of it. You see, they have agreed to help me run my modest business which will reduce the rattling that often goes off in my overcrowded brain.  When someone makes an enquiry, Helen answered it in her husky tones which varies depending on whether she has been singing that weekend.  When a sand drawing needs to be done, then Andy the Grid King takes over.  I am extremely lucky, as not only are they great at what they do, but I trust them implicitly from our performance days.  This is harder to come by than any shiny orange metal.

The Sand in Your Eye Team Discussing Sand and Ice Sculpture Events

So to Helen and Andy, welcome and may we enjoy!

Jamie

The First Animated Beach Drawing Film (1st Edit)

“An idea is like a seed” I babbled the night before in front of the team whilst in the pub who had offered to let five of us stay there for the night for free, “If you feed it then it may grow beyond all your imagination.”  I had a pint of Black Sheep to aid me in my oratory.  “And this is what I mean, this was once just a simple idea and now we are all sat here ready to make a giant sand drawing tomorrow.”  This was all received well and after the meeting we retired to the comfort of a cosy corner and a few more rounds of fine ale to encourage our Bravado.

“You must be joking.” These were the dishevelled comments of the great and most talented Mark Yates as I woke him at 6am the next morning.  The benefits of beer from the night before had turned on us.  But there was a golden moment waiting.  Finn’s mom had promised an English Breakfast to start our day at her house, and even though she is a vegetarian, she took great delight in stuffing our bellies with pork, hasbrowns, toast, beans, and even a bowl of cornflakes if you could fit it in; which I did.

But we indeed had a lot to do and needed some whole hearted fuel to do it.  Unfortunately, Finn who was filming the piece could not join us as we tucked into our succulent bacon, as he had been on the beech since 4am filming the sunrise shot in time lapse.

We hauled our full bellies into the car and made our journey from Malton to Filey, winding through the sleepy villages of Yorkshire on this glorious Mothers Day, the sun glistening over the hills, with trees on the verge of coming into bud and leaping forward in the fullness of spring.  As it was a Sunday, we listened to the ‘Faith hour’ on radio York, apparently a lady had made a successful exorcism of a woman and child that had been plaguing a young family, and had managed to lock them in a jar of holy water.  Well done to that girl.

On our arrival to the beach I sighted Finn on the promenade wrapped up in his best thermals, camera in place and a folding chair sat beside him which had obviously been his sanctuary for the last four hours.  “Eh up lad!”  I called at him as we got out of the car.  “Let’ get started then.”

By 8am the team of 15 had arrived.  Of course things did not go completely to plan as is always the case.  We had some ‘technical issues’ with the camera and then I had to do the introduction which is timed to music, it took a few rushed shots and I unfortunately marked 10 out of 10 for ponce value; I think we’ll have to do some editing there, but for now, we’ll all have to endure it.  After that we had to lay out the graph on the sand which is always demoralising as it seemingly makes no sense to anyone but me and people just have to go with my commands down the walkie talkies.  “Roger that, that’s right, lay the wooden spoons in every 10 meters.  Over.”  This is always a great workout for me as I’m constantly sprinting the vast area of the drawing which is 75 meters to make sure things are in place.

“Isn’t it getting a bit late Jamie, what’s our schedule like?”  It was indeed a little late and there was not room for much error, and our error at that point was about 45 minutes.

Finally the graph was finished and I called a quick meet to discuss the drawing method.  “Is everyone here?  Where’s Edward?  Has anyone seen him?”  I then glanced across the way and saw Edward sprawled out on a bench having a sleep.  “Edward, wake up lad, we’ve got to get a move on!” He woke up affronted and a little confused “What, er…. now?”

The drawing phase seemed to go well and is always a relief as it instils a sudden confidence that the project may actually work.  But then there was still the time issue highlighted by my dear friend John’s ever so slightly sarcastic relish of “They are behind time.”  But behind we were, and now by at least an hour.  The tide had already turned over an hour ago and we had a two hour drawing to rake.  It did not seem possible now to do it within the time frame.  I discussed this with Finn and he suggested that we stay with the original calculations as to change it now could ruin the piece.

“OK chaps, have a sandwich and a quick break and then we’ll get the raking started.  Visit the toilet if you need it as there will be no breaks once we begin the drawing.”  Like a flock of birds everyone dispersed and I was left with my Tuna sandwich pondering the time issue, and then suddenly an idea dawned on me.

“Munsten!” I bellowed, this was the name of the drummer boy, “ start beating the drum!”  I stuffed my tuna sandwich in my pocket and ran down the slippery steps and onto the beach.  I grabbed the nearest rake lying on the floor.  The drum was beating.  Originally, we were to rake at one rake width intervals every ten seconds.  So why not two instead?  This would make the image move twice as quick, just programme the camera to make double the frames.  I raked to see if it was manageable, and it seemed to work fine.  Excellent.  “Finn, we are going to move at twice the speed!”

Of course, five minutes is always ten and it was a while before everyone returned.  Edward had gone for a walk to search for Filey’s best sandwich but on we went.  I gathered the team again and explained how we were to rake in beat with a drum that would synchronise with the camera taking a photo every ten seconds, together with the alterations that we had made.  “But I’ve only just got my head around the other method!” piped Hannah.

Each team was then going to begin drawing at the sound of the fog horn which I love.  I’m thinking of attaching it to my bicycle.  After many final ramifications and reassurances that everyone knew the plan, I fired the fog horn, “BOOOOM!”  This was then followed by the almost silent click of the camera as it took the first frame of the sequence.  The raking had begun and now there was no turning back.

The raking was an intense process, watched on by all that had come to walk on the promenade in Filey that day.  Suddenly an unthinkable image had started to appear in the sand, it was no longer an abstract idea, it was growing like a plant, the central trunk advancing down the beach with limbs branching and spiralling from it.  People on the beach passed by with no idea what they were walking over, it is impossible to know what these crazy folk with rakes are up to unless you can see them from above.  The serenity was only partially quelled as I intermittently fired to foghorn to signal the start of a new limb.

The first animated beach sand drawing in progress

“The sea’s getting pretty close!” advised Andy Moss.  The beach was not so steep and I knew that one wave could charge in and take the not yet finished top of the drawing.  “Mr Yates, I called on the walkie talkie.  Double the rake speed if you would!”  And so with a final charge the image was finished before the unrelenting sea managed to take it.  There is no allowance for mistakes when you are playing by the rules of the cosmos, moons and suns do not wait for sand drawings.

But of course, as you can see from the film, all went well. The seed did indeed flower into something beyond our imagination.  And that was the thing really, originally it was just an idea, but with thought and application it became a living thing, and not just a piece of animation.  15 people, some of which who had never met, travelled over counties, stayed in each others homes, were never kept wanting over food and good cheer because of unreal hospitality, and finally got to share a day together of our short lives that none of us will ever forget.

“Do you remember that sand drawing on Filey beach……” we will say.

Thank you to all those involved, and cheerio for now.

Jamie

The Worlds First Animated Beach Drawing – In Yorkshire!

I am pleased to say that we will be creating the world’s first animated sand drawing at Filey Beach, North Yorkshire on the early morning of Mothers Day – Sunday 14 March 2010.

The Beach Drawing Sketch for Filey

The Beach Drawing Sketch for Filey

The drawing entitled “An idea is like a seed” will grow from a single spot into a plant that will be 75 meters long and will move and swirl to music.  It will take 15 people a day to make and will create a real-time film sequence that will be 29 seconds long.

The image will be created over four hours by taking a photograph every ten seconds which will later be condensed into real-time film and make a sequence that is 29 seconds long; a process referred to as time lapse.

The drawing begins at 7am and ends at 12pm with the sea washing over it around 2pm.  The film will be available that evening on the blog at:  www.sandsculptureice.co.uk/blog

The artistic director is myself and filming will be done by Finn Varney (www.aberrationfilms.co.uk), and music by Daren Ibbetson.  The drawers are Yorkshire artists: Mark Yates (www.markyates.co.uk) from the band Terrovision, Andy Moss, Thomas Bolland (www.thomasbolland.co.uk), Hannah Bolland, Warzier Mirza, Edward Mortimer, Richard Green, and Andrew Firth as well as the ‘ABERRATION film crew.’

If you don’t know what I’m talking about then this will give you an idea, but the one in Filey will move and be four times the size!

mothers day sand drawing

Hope to see you there and cheerio for now!

Jamie