Jamie's blog

On the 14^th January a small team from Sandinyoureye ventured to Filey on a gloriously cold crisp winters day to make a test sand drawing for our summer Fallen project which has an open invitation.  Please watch this short film by Finn Varney:

The idea is to create a visual representation of what is otherwise unimaginable:   The thousands of Human Lives Lost during the hours of the tide during the WWII Normandy landings on the 6^th June 1944.  It does not propose to be a celebration or condemnation, simply a statement of fact and tribute to life and its premature loss.

7,500 silhouettes of German Forces, Civilians and Allies will be drawn on the beach at the rate in which they died, only to be erased totally by the incoming tide as their own lives were.  There will be no distinction between nationalities, they will be known only as The Fallen.

Profoundly, the rate at which we will be drawing will also be equal to the loss of life per hour throughout the entire duration of the war.

Participation

If you wish to join in this project on the 6^th June in northern France then please let us know.  Everything will be self-funded although we may share costs of travel.  Together we will make something that will be very special. Please contact moss@sandinyoureye.co.uk We will need approximately 150 people, this may individuals, a group or a school.

There was once a little girl called Spirit.

She was on orphan which meant she had no parents, and she had very little to give apart from her kindness which to some is everything.

One winter day she saw a young Robin Red Breast who had no food.  So she shared her last piece of bread with him and they ate happily together.

Whilst walking along a frozen lake, Spirit saw a fawn fall through the ice. A fawn is a baby reindeer.  Spirit slid across the ice and pulled the fawn out.  It was very cold and its nose had gone red so she took it to her friend Father Christmas who would take care of it.

Father Christmas was very happy to look after the reindeer and gave it a very special name that I am sure you all know. He was always happy to see Spirit as every time he saw her she gave him a present.  On this occasion she had given him his best friend.

On her way home it began to get warm.  She saw her friend the Snowman but he was crying tears because he was melting.  Spirit made a coat of icicles to keep him cold until the coming of the night.  The snowman stopped crying and began to smile again.  Spirit had made him very happy.

There was an old lady who lived on the hill.  She was lonely in the dark winter nights because she had nobody to talk to.  Spirit and the snowman decided to fill her with joy by standing on her doorstep singing carols.  The old lady was so overjoyed that she began to sing too.

Spirit loved Christmas and she woke to find a single present sitting at her feet.  Inside the paper she could feel that it was very soft and light.  She was very excited but managed to peel back the paper slowly so that she didn’t damage the present within.  When she looked the gift was white and made of feathers.  It was a pair of wonderful wings.

This is how Spirit became an Angel.  She is now known as the Spirit of Christmas and spreads joy and kindness.  Perhaps we can be like her too.

Jamie Wardley ©Sandinyoureye

It was a delight to introduce Andy Moss to his first Big Ice Project in Zwolle, Holland at the kind invitation of Huib Joor. Here there are sculptors from all over the world coming together to make a massive ice project. Of course, we landed fashionably late and had to try and catch up with everyone else who had already been there for three days. This was a lot easier to do with the help of Dutch carver Ludo Roders who rushed in to offer us support.

Together we made Dolphins and fish float in the air which was a very technical challenge for us but made easier by my new Japanese fusing saw and silk murderers gloves that give a little dexterity in these tricky -10 Celsius situations. Ice is an extremely strong material that allows you to do extremely dynamic sculptures and optical illusions. Fill your boots Mr Moss. It is only the beginning.

Jamie

The sky is black and below in the mountain basin is a wondrous living creature.  She is breathing.  If I were to take a photograph of her and show you she would lose the life within as you would lose it if I were to take a photograph of you, because when you are there looking at her in the flesh she is sparkling and is totally alive.  I am told the vast lights of the city that stretch to the horizon only twinkle because of thermal currents making their way through the atmosphere.  Whatever the reason, millions of lights pulsating with a rhythm that dances like the eight million people that live there is remarkable. We saw this looking down from the high vantage point of a mountain top called Montserrat onto a city that nestles in a basin two kilometres above sea level.  I have never seen in my life before an entire city before me, in fact I have seen very few things made by the hand of man that is so beautiful.  All these wondrous flickering lights are the sparkle of the people that live there.  It is the city of Bogota.

This is the place that has no seasons, it is always warm and has occasional rain that makes it so green and full of fruit the whole year round.  Here the air is thin and when you move with haste you have to breathe deeper and rest more.  Here the crescent of the moon has slipped off its hinges and sits not on its side, but on its bottom like a great white smile that reflects the most welcoming smile of the people that live here.  They are indeed one of the friendliest people I have met, and so varied in appearance that the whole country resembles a cosmopolitan city and is welcoming to all, even a red headed Englishman.  This is Colombia.

But I am not unhappy to leave Colombia.  There is something inherently warming about the place I am in now.  Here there are seasons, autumn paints the landscape with its wonderful colours and for better or for worse the dark months of winter draw near.  It is cold and wet but wonderfully green.  The crescent of the moon is as it has always been.  When I speak to somebody they understand every inflection of my voice, I can use all words and full accent.  Here there are people that have known me all my life, we have a deep understanding of each other that has been born out of the many layers of shared experience woven through time.  They need me and I need them.  I belong here.  This is home.  This is Yorkshire.

Our big journey started with a sand drawing and sand sculpture on Barry Island for the lovely Sarah Jones.  One part of the team was on the sand drawing on the beach making a Ghost Ship stretched 400 meters across the shore.  I for the first time was not on the job and it was directed by Captain Andy Moss at the helm with the assistance of Lieutenant pAndora directing from the promenade and with Officer Jo Billingsley and Richard Green on the deck.  We were also joined by Officer Mary Murphy and a group of Sailors from Bristol University (UWE) who as always were fantastic.

I on the other hand was on the shore with Lieutenant Haigh and Officer Havers building a sand castle and being sure to make the walls strong enough to withstand the cannon fodder of the Ghost Ship.  I think we won the battle as the Ghost ship despite everyone’s efforts was swallowed up by the incoming tide at the end of the day and the sand castle is still standing.  We know how to make castles.

After the Barry Island campaign we said tallyho to our mateys who headed back up to great Yorkshire.  Andy Moss, Richard Green and I headed south to make some little cars for Ford on the wonderful beach of Polzeath, Cornwall.  One of the most poignant memories of that journey was getting out of the van in the dead of night to change drivers on a new moon and black clear sky.  But it was not totally black, as the night was so clear and dark that a sparkling silver cloud stretched across the length and breadth of the sky, each drop of water being a star, and the stars together being our Galaxy.  We were certainly blessed that night.

Andy Moss and James Haigh arrived early in Bournemouth to prepare the sand on Thursday. I was driving towards Bristol for a party to celebrate a sand drawing and was getting regular updates from the boys on the phone. “It’s a washout, it’s a washout!” I couldn’t really grasp what James was saying and had to go to the services to call them.

“Jamie, it is a total washout, it’s just been torrential rain, I’ve never seen anything like it. The winter gardens has just turned into a lake that comes up to the waist, cars are floating around round abouts and the sand is just washing away!”

“So is there no sand for the sculpture?”

“Well we put a tarp over it and most of it is still there. Andy even called in the RAF to give him some sand bags!” This was no jest as we were making a sand castle at the Bournemouth Air Show to celebrate 20 years of MARS Ice Cream. I really can’t believe it was 20 years since they came out, I remember looking at them in the freezer when I was a boy. So, so desirable and so beyond the realms of my non-existent pocket money. It was years before I could afford one, but how delicious it was.

I eventually arrived in Bournemouth to find the boys tucked in bed in the hotel. They however were grim and full of frowns. With unrelenting sarcasm Andy piped under his great moustache “No, this is a great hotel Jamie, you would get a lot of money for selling the antique TV.” It was so old and large in fact, that I later used it as my desk. “……And the beds are damp, last night I woke up shivering!” The peace de resistance however was that the ensuit to the toilet was separated by a partition, and the partition was made of frosted glass. This made for some very intimate bonding after breakfast.

We cracked on for two days and had a great time making our sand castle, sometimes a little embarrassed as when the red arrows were flying by some people were taking photographs of us rather than them. “It’s the Red Arrows, turn the other way!” They were as all the other times I’ve seen them spectacular, swooping from all directions to make their manoeuvres with all the grace and power of the Jets that they fly; splashing paint in the sky that is their canvas. After they departed Andy turned to me and described that watching them had left a lump in his throat, perhaps because he admired so much their dedication to becoming what they are. “I thought being a sand sculptor was the best job in the world, but now I think it is the Red Arrows.” Unknown to us at the time, moments after they departed back to the airport one of the jets ‘Red 4’ plummeted to the ground and crashed not far from where we actually were. Before impact, it is thought that Lt John Egging managed to steer his jet away from a shopping centre and towards a field. However, he ejected too late and died doing something that he loved. Although tragic there is something poignant in a man following the path of his dreams. He may have been young when he died but he was truly living his life. Let him be an inspiration to us all.

And here we have it….

Sandinyoureye has helped make the world’s largest stop motion animation made with our sand drawing in collaboration with Aardman Animation (Wallace and Gromit) and Sumo Science.  And what’s more, all this was shot on a small camera phone called a Nokia N8!

Below is the film itself.  Enjoy!

And the making of….

Dan thrust his arm into the dark depths of the engine.  This beast of a vehicle which is a Portuguese military jeep seems to be a cross between a Humvee and a Land Rover and was being a little temperamental and didn’t want to start. I’d just arrived in Portugal to risk my life harvesting honey from Dan’s bees and to make a stone sculpture of my own devise for the first time.  Right now, we’d just finished off the evening with some delicious Piri Piri chicken at an understated restaurant owned by the charming Senior Aurelious.  So much so that he gave us some complimentary Madronia which is akin to Vodka to clean the pallet and help wash down the dried figs that we had as a dessert.  I myself had got so engrossed with the delight of the Piri Piri chicken that I pretty much polished off the shared plate before Dan even got a piece.  I didn’t realise that Dan is one of those people that saves the best until last on his plate, I on the other hand am a little less indiscriminate and have a veil of ignorance when it comes to sharing etiquette and food.  If you put food in front of me, beware.

Dan had warned me about the jeep not starting and keeps a screw driver in it at all times just in case.  It was by this stage dark and Dan could see nothing as he took the screw driver and thrusted it into the engine.  As his arm disappeared sparks erupted from the dark depths and then a roar erupted as the engine miraculously sprang into life.  The beast was alive and it didn’t bite Dan’s arm off.  Hopefully his bees would be so tame.

The next day I awoke with trepidation as I knew that we were going to harvest the honey, which is much more like stealing if you ask me.  I feel the bees think the same way as going down to the hives is like preparing for battle.  You don a full white suit that is totally sealed so that the beed can’t get in.  I could see that Dan was a little nervous.  You don’t want to be forgetting the smoke machine or your protective gloves for instance.  Dan was fondling the two hats and trying to decide which to give me.

“Which hat would you like?  There is the square one where the net is kept away from your face, or there is this one that looks a little more cool, but the bees when they attack you can push the net against your skin and sting you.”

“I will take the square one.”  Why even ask?

We drove down to the hives in the faithful jeep and jumped out like commandos, I thought about doing a forward roll but the Portuguese plants are very prickly and I thought better of it.  There in front of us were two blue boxes that at first sight looked quite friendly.  But I could see by Dan’s mood that this was not so and I was not to underestimate the swarm within.  Where is the smoke gun?  Was my suit as impenetrable as I thought?  Earlier, I had been so paranoid about my armour that I had found a small hole in my shoe that looked very much bee size.  I had made Dan tape it up.  I was also wearing a jacket under the suit just in case the bees tried to punch through the fabric of the protective cloth. There is no point taking any unnecessary risks even though I was sweating to death.  Portugal is hot.  But the thought of bees sticking me with their little stings was even more overwhelming, the last time I was stung by a bee was when I was five years old as I attempted to close my hand around one.  It is the most painful experience in my memory .

With little ceremony Dan lifted the lid off the first hive and was immediately concerned as there was no swarm attacking us.  Nevertheless, always the one to never disregard personal safety I suggested using the smoke machine to chill them out a little. “Oh, yeagh. Good idea” concurred Dan.

It seems that most of Dan’s bees including the queens had abandoned the hive.  Uncharacteristically however, they had left all the honey and so there was definitely something amiss.  Usually, if bees leave a hive they will take all the honey with them and they are remarkably efficient at doing it.  For Dan this was very disappointing, but for me there were still plenty of bees to make it exciting and I was always ready to dispense advice:  “Maybe, you need to use some more smoke Dan?”

We took the hives up to the studio and rested them upon the desk.  A handful of bees had followed and were trundling about the place lapping up all the honey.  Apparently, it now became the bees objective to collect all the stolen honey and take it back to the hive.

To extract the honey, Dan had devised a centrifugal box that spins the frames so that they honey flies out of the box and collects the honey in the bottom.  This was an arrangement of bunji chords, string wire and a plastic box, very high tech. So much so that after we had erected it we had to go and have a break and lie down after our morning ordeal.  It is a wonder that the Portuguese can get any work done at all in this stifling heat. Perhaps this explains their current economic crisis.

After our siesta and now fuelled by a turbo coffee kick we were all charged up and ready to extract the honey.  Unfortunately, the bees had exactly the same idea and as we approached thousands of them had found the honey and were busy lapping it up to take back to the main hive or to steal it to neighbouring hives.  I of coursed donned my suit, zipping myself up and fixing on my hat and gloves.  Mr Invincible all in white.  Dan on the other hand decided to protect himself only with his shorts and pink t-shirt.  Thousand of bees I say again.  “Awe, they’re not aggressive now, they’re just wanting to take back their honey.  There’s no danger really.”  I nodded my head in agreement in the safety of my Mr Invincible suit.  Yeagh right Dan.

Total disbelief then flushed over me as Dan wearing only gloves lifted one of the frames out of the hive covered in Bees.  Gently, he took it over to the centrifuge plastic box and inserted it.  It has to be said, that nothing is perfect.  But our centrifuge box was much less than perfect.  The spinning bit worked a treat, as the box spiralled around in a circle.  The honey started to extract from the combs under the G-Force as planned.  However, as the plastic box spun out of control the force was so great that the honey rose up the sides of the box seemingly unhindered by the rubbish lid we had on top of it and proceeded to spray over us, the jeep, the motorbike, and the whole studio.  We just needed some milk and we would have been in the Promised Land.  Not to be deterred Danny Boy slowed down the spin and that kind of worked to a degree but was tedious.  I could see Dan loosing his patients and declaring that he was going to jack in all this bee keeping business but I have a feeling that nostalgia will get the better of him.  In the end we opted to just scrape the honey out wax and all and put it through a sieve.  Brutal but affective.  I am also pleased to report that during this business Dan did indeed get stung.  Not because the bees were aggressive, he was right about that, but because they became trapped in the fabric of his gloves.  His arm swelled up like Pop-Eye’s over and over the next three days he winded like a girl.  Love it.

During the rest of my stay the main objective was to make a stone sculpture using all of Dan’s delightful tools.  This will be one of the first stone sculptures that I will have made that is of my own design.

It’s a wonderful thing carving a sculpture only for the sake of the lines themselves. There is no mission or objective that is greater than the sculpture itself and the lines that it is.  Your only guide is impulse.  This is a very free and pure form of carving.

Of course, with stone, your impulse has to last a number of days as there is no quick remedy to success.  Stone is hard.  This may seem like the most obvious thing in the world to say but it has to be said as stone doesn’t want to chip away so easily.  For four days I cut away with the diamond blade angle grinder and hand chisels, getting covered in dust and breathing through a mask so that I didn’t burn my lungs with the lime.  On the last day the studio was completely caked in dust.  And after all that, I didn’t even finish.  Nearly, but not quite.  There is now a block of stone in a studio in Portugal that looks very much like something but is waiting for my return so that it can finally become.

Jamie

Whilst shovelling some sand below Beethoven’s chin I turned to Andy Moss. “So lets go and see a show tonight.”

Andy returned my gaze with a quizzical scepticism. “Oh yeah?  Why’s that then?”

“Well, we are making a sculpture for a classical music festival and we should probably see some classical music.”

“Mmm.”  Mr Moss eyed me even more suspiciously.  “And that’s the only reason is it?”

Whatever did he mean I thought to myself.  “Well yes.  We could go tomorrow night but there is a really good tune being played tonight that I really like and I think you will all really enjoy it.  It’s called Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams and is one of the most magical tunes around”

“….And there’s no other reason why we are going? You see there is usually some other reason that we don’t know about.”

I was beginning to feel offended.  “Nope, just the music”

Mr Moss began to twist the ends of his moustache neatly in his thumb and forefinger, deep in contemplation of the situation.  “Ok.”  He was evidently willing to sit this one out and await the true conclusion.  “We will see.”

We were at the East Neuk Music Festival again making a sand sculpture in the village of Crail outside the glorious Honey Pot Café with Graham and Edna that is home to the world famous Crail Carrot Cake (claimed to be made by Page).  We were making a sculpture on the theme of Beethoven with Dan Glover from America working on the music score, me the face of Beethoven, and Andy Moss the haircut.  It was a somewhat daunting experience on account of it being a portrait of sorts and Beethoven’s miserable expression.  It is very true that if I am making a laughing face then it makes me laugh and smile, and the converse is true with a miserable face.  Still I plodded on.  I was encouraged greatly however when someone thought that it was to be Margaret Thatcher and then another Lady Gaga.  Lildhi who was one of the stewards looking after the sculpture said it was going to give her nightmares. Thanks for that.

On that note, I decided to go all the way and take up on Dan Glovers suggestion and give it roaming eyes.  You see there is an optical illusion where if you sculpt an object concave (negative) rather than convex (positive) as normal, then it will appear to follow you.  And so it was that Beethovens black eyes would follow you constantly no matter where you were.

Some hours later we had arrived at the concert hall and watched the first half of the concert which was entirely strings.  “Well she was pulling some funny expressions.”  This was the half time commentary by Mr Moss on the violin soloist’s Isabelle van Keulen performance after the interval.  She is a very charismatic violinist from Holland and she is characteristically blond and tall as the Dutch tend to be.  It was evidently her that was to play the Lark Ascending.  “…..So why are we really here Jamie?”

“I told you, there is a really good piece later on.  You will like it.”

Dan then rolled into conversation with tired looking eyes, “Oh, man, I nearly fell asleep there, I need a coffee.” The poor lad looked like he had just got out of bed.  During the concert I had to pinch the soft tissue of his hand at one moment to stop him from dosing off.  “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just so soothing that it just lulls me off to sleep!”

For the second half we took our seats and we were this time accompanied by Tilly and Mohsina who were fashionably late as they are just so cool.  Mohsinah also had a cold which was great as she added to the lulls in the music with her sniffles.  But the second half was much more lively and nobody was dozing off this time.  Schubert woke us all up and got our feet tapping.  I was so excited by the sight of the trombones (I used to play the trumpet) that I had to correct myself for using some colourful expletives.  I was in civilised company now.  It has been said to me many times, you can take the boy out of Bradford, but you cannot take Bradford out of the boy.

And back onto the stage came the lead violinist Isabelle van Keulen.  I was by this stage a little nervous due to Mr Moss’s probing accusations and the fact that I’d brought everyone here to pretty much listen to this piece.  I myself had heard it many times on the radio and then began to realise that it is actually a very difficult piece to play and some fourteen minutes long.  I began to question whether this tall Dutch lady could play this delicate solo.  As she walked on there was lots of clapping and nodding, but I did detect some nerves from her, and rightly so, only later did I find out that she had never played this at a concert before.  The audience then went quiet and she propped the tiny violin that is 250 years old onto her shoulder and then clamped it there with her chin, occasionally releasing her hands from it entirely to make sure it was balanced and secured comfortably.  Her expression was now sombre and totally concentrated.  It was just her and the violin, building up to the moment when her bow would move across the strings and the piece would begin.

Total Silence, no movement from anybody.  And then the Lark began to Ascend.

There is something utterly compelling about music.  What is in the fabric of a rhythm and sound that can make people stand aghast with such joy and amazement?  The sounds that came from that little violin and the supporting Scottish Chamber Orchester were as sweet as Dan Glover’s honey, and all were licking their lips and some wiping their eyes towards the end.  But as if this was not enough, Isabelle played the piece so magnificently that even the seagulls chimed in their calls in perfect pitch to celebrate this wonderful piece of music.  Vaughan Williams, thank you so much for such an amazing piece, and Isabelle van Keulen you were fantastic.  Even Mr Moss had to almost concede that my true intentions were to see the music.  But still there is an element of doubt in the end of his moustache!

Oh, and we also did some sand drawings just to throw in an added extra.

The flags were flying again over Glastonbury.  This time I had the joy of being at the festival before all the people arrived and was able to enjoy the creative hustled and bustle that brings the festival alive.  This year was also very different to last in that it rained.  It was fascinating to see the verdant hills of Glastonbury in a matter of hours turn to mud as the bulk of the 180,000 people marched in on Wednesday. But nobody was downhearted, it causes great amusement to watch people trying not to fall in the mud and great pride to see that they are not at all deterred by it and in fact embrace it.  The humble wellie is by far one of the greatest pieces of footwear on the planet.  Mr Wellie, or whoever you are that invented it, I salute you.

We were to make a sand sculpture under the creative eye of Zara Gaze and her company Sandalism.  Zara again employed this wonderful concept of a transitional sculpture that grows throughout the festival and we were this year joined by my good friend Dan Glover.  If the Incredible Hulk and Toad from the Wind In The Willows were able to pro-create, the Dan would be the spawn minus the green tinge.  He is hilariously funny and it is such a shame that Toad did not take up sand sculpting as Dan is one of the best.

We never gave the sculpture a name but it was inspired by the coming into the world of a little bundle of joy called Huxley who is Zara’s new born baby.  He is just old enough to crack a most charming smile that makes everybody’s hearts melt.  The first phase of the sculpture was to make a group of sperm swimming towards the egg.  Enjoy watching the expression on parents faces as their child asks what the tadpoles are doing and then their panic when Zara gives their child a definitive correction: “….they are not tadpoles they are sperm…” The parents are then for a moment speechless before Zara succinctly gives the children their first sex education lesson on conception and the roles of Mommy and Daddy.  They then leave the sand pile with a sense of contentment knowing that there is now one very awkward conversation with their kid that they will not have to have.

A day or so later this sculpture then evolved into a six week foetus that most people thought was a dolphin.  We even had to write “human foetus VI weeks old”  and still people asked what it was, peoples brains are not working quite as well as usual at Glastonbury, It must be something in the air.  “It was once you my friend.”  After that it then transformed itself into a baby.

But of course the joy of Glastonbury is not the just the sculpture but the music we are able to see and the people that we are able to meet.  We camped next to a new band Ellen and the Escapades and then watched them on the Park Stage shouting “We love you Ellen!” much to their embarrassment.  These guys are very talented, watch out.  The Sushi girls then lined our belies with delicious food, and Shelly and the gang with morning coffee.  We danced and sang with people in the crowd embracing the music come rain or shine, and of course, I got to see my new sister and her wonderful family and friends again.

But there is one secret to Glastonbury that people do not seem to know about.  If there is one thing that a sand sculptor always has on him then it is a bucket and spade, no matter where he is going.  I even sleep with a bucket as you never know when it will come in handy.  So when we took our blue buckets to the concerts we were the envy of all those around us and naturally spread the bucket love as much as we could.  It’s an amazing feeling being in a concert, the music and the movement of the crowd.  But one thing you do not get is the enormity of it all as you can only see the hundred or so heads around you and that is pretty much it.  Most often than not you cannot actually see the performers on the stage breathing life into the festival through  their music.  You cannot see the 80,000 people sprawled across the fields and up the hill, bobbing up and down to the music with smiles on their faces.  But,…and here is the simple joy of the blue bucket, if you turn it on it’s end and stand on it’s base then you can see everything and the joy of the festival reaches a new level.  I feel a revolution coming on.