Honey Bee gathering up the 'Stolen Honey'

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.

Psyching myself up for the Bee Encounter

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 .

Dan inspecting the honey comb

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.

The bees taking back the honey

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.

Hard core Dan With the Non-Aggressive Bees

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.

Starting with a block of stone

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.

The rough shape

The texture that the grinder leaves

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.

Final Stages of the sculpture

Jamie

Andy Moss and the Beethoven Sand Sculpture

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.

Beethoven is watching you!

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.

Brittle Star

Star Fish Sand Drawing

Zara and the Sperm and Egg Sculpture

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.

Mr Toad © Estate of E H Shepard 2004. Licensed by Copyrights Group.

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.

6 Week Old Foetus

The final baby finished

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.

Dan watching Ellen and the Escapades

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.

Bucket Love

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.

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!"

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

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

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

The sandinyoureye team with the dove of Peace

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

Jamie

Jamie and the Jellyfish

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.

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 4^th July was coming up and that we could all jump.

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

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

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

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