Pandorà, the Face and the Signature Birds

The Bar tailed godwit

The Bar tailed godwit

My alarm chirped at me and it was 3am.  I’d not had much sleep on account of my head been so busy with grids, measurements and images. and I was rising so early to finalise designs for the day to come.  In an hour and a half we were to descend onto the beach to make a protest against a proposal for a coal fired power station on our shores with the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds).  The proposal would destroy a wading area for birds and significantly contribute to climate change.  There is no need in this day and age for Britain to source such energy; is it not so windy over here after all.

I woke Andy Moss at 4am.  His face was uncharacteristically blank and like a zombie he clothed himself, carefully taking one step after another, slowly becoming more alert as his body arose from its deep sleep.  At that moment there was a knock at the door and Jo Billingsley popped her head through.  Our quartet was almost complete.

We drove down to the beach in the dead of night, me desperately trying to see through the windscreen all fogged up by the warmth of our bodies snatched from our beds.  It wasn’t far to the beach and when we arrived there was no one but ourselves, the beach lit up for a moment by our headlights and then black as I turned off the engine.

The Super Nova sequence with the solar orbs at Druiridge Bay

The Super Nova sequence with the solar orbs at Druiridge Bay

We were to make two drawings that day.  One set of images were to be birds flying down the beach.  The negative space would be highlighted by the signatures of those people who had signed the protest, it was to be a visual demonstration.  This idea had come from some work we had done the week before.  Working with a youth group we had made some solar orbs in negative space with squiggles as the flares to highlight them.  Some of the kids had made pictures instead of squiggles; others had signed the images with their names.  It dawned on me that it would be poignant to make the birds using the signatures from the protest.  The Signature Bird was born; this was to be done by me and Jo with the help of the RSPB volunteers.  The second image was to be a face of a girl cracking as though it was in a dry river bed.  This was to be done by Andy Moss, the Mexican, the Major, the Moustache; he goes by so many names.  Joining Andy was to be Pandorà.  The quartet was complete.

Pandorà was waiting for us on the walkway.  We met her last week in Bradford whilst we struggled with some preparations.  She offered to help us.  She is an unassuming character and at first I was not sure what is was that she could do.  But now I feel a little embarrassed at how I underestimated her and I think I speak for everyone to say that we were blown away by her insight.  In the hours that she bestowed upon us sand drawing was changed forever and it seems a revolution in how to draw large images occurred that day.   I cannot tell you who or what she is exactly as I fear she may blow your mind.  What I can say though is that she is the Truth Teller and the All Seeing Eye.  She has such a noble and regal air that I feel she must be some sort of princess in another far off country that is perhaps not even of this world.

In the dark the four of us began plotting out the main points of the face image, overcoming obstacles that the darkness posed against us as they arose.  Like a drone Andy buzzed around the beach plotting the markers whilst Pandorà instructed him where to go in her calm stately fashion.  If it were me and Andy alone trying to plot the markers in the dark, then we would be fumbling around with frustration for hours only to get it wrong.  But Pandorà instantly knows where everything should go without any tapes or string; it is quite remarkable.

RSPB signature birds

Soon the RSPB volunteers began to arrive and the drawing commenced.  Jo and I went to make the bird images that were to be photographed by the Aeroplane which is piloted by Nigel King.  Nigel is an incredible character and I feel that he needs a story of his own.  For now he is the magician of the air, taking incredible photographs that are far superior to any others that we have had in the past.

Jamie posing for the cameras with The cracking face.  Drawn by Andy Moss and Pandora

Jamie posing for the cameras with The cracking face. Drawn by Andy Moss and Pandora

It is characteristic of large sand drawings that you are often isolated in your own space as the team is so spread out along the beach.  Occasionally there is talking on the radio reassuring you that you are not alone.  Hand poised on stick, stick drawing in the sand, making marks that are yet to be signed with the rake.  We drew for four hours right until the sea was lapping at the wing of our final bird which was my favourite the Bar-tailed Godwit.  Myself and Jo drew it together in haste to try and beat the tide and we got the raking team to come and sign it before we had even finished the drawing.  I could not see the finished result as I had to run the 600 meters down the length of the beach for a press call on the work of Andy and Pandorà.  It was fantastic.  An anamorphosised face that was 100 meters long, done by just the two of them.  We posed for the journalists before the tide took the image.

The Bar Tailed Godwit signed in the sand

The Bar Tailed Godwit signed in the sand

It was to be a great success on Irvine beach that day.  We did not know it at the time as we were so exhausted and ready to go to bed, our eyes glazed.  But we could not go to bed as we had to drive home for five hours to verdant Yorkshire.  The morning had been so intense that it passed into a dream like memory.  It was only the next day that we realised how successful it had been as the images of the face appeared in newspapers up and down the country.

“Jamie, I just saw your face in the Metro  and the Telegraph!”  This was a message from a dear friend of mine Danielle.  What surprised me though is that she was writing from Sydney Australia.  The images had gone global.

My thanks to Andy, Jo, Pandorà, the people at the RSPB and finally Nigel King who took all the ariel images.

Jamie

Two hearts beating in the same body

Me and Mom

Me and Mom

“Mommy, I’m tired.”  I am four years old and walking back from Grassington to the campsite in Appletreewick in the verdant Yorkshire Dales with my Mom, my hand holding hers. It is six miles away and I have already walked 6 miles there earlier that day.  I reiterate, I am only four years old.  My little legs are aching, I am so small and tired that I’m swaying as I walk, my ginger hair bobbing like a dandelion in the breeze, my eyes are blinking sleepily, taking in the rolling hills dotted with white sheep, my eyes close for a little longer this time, blackness, they open again and are greeted by the hills once more.  My mom looks down at me sympathetically and squeezes my hand twice.  She does this occasionally to let me know she’s thinking about me. I squeeze back.

“Close your eyes Jamie and sleep whilst you’re walking, I will guide you.”  My wonderful mother holds my hand more firmly; ready to show me the way.  I quickly resign to this, I know I am too heavy to carry now and that the only way back home is to walk.  I close my eyes. The green hills give way to darkness and I can only hear now as I sway from side to side, my hair tickling my cheeks as it bobs, my moms hand guiding me through the fields, the sound of the river Wharfe tinkling away gently to my right side, twittering birds flying over head, lambs baying to their mothers.  Blissful sounds and scents pass through me, soothing my aching legs, they are still working; as long as my legs are still working then everything is OK.

There is a slight rise in the path, but I do not falter, I have total faith in my mother, her grip tightens as she guides me, we must be navigating something difficult, I wonder what it is?  I then feel her hand move forward a little in a surge and then at the last moment she pulls back.  But before I stop naturally my four year old body jolts dead as it collides with an unmoveable object, I hear the crunch of my forehead jar against something firm followed by a dull pain. I open my eyes blinded by the light, they gradually adjust and I am confused by what I see.  There is a dry stone wall in front of my face and I seemed to have walked into it, but how can that be, my mom is holding my hand.

I look up to her, at first her expression is blank, and then her eyes narrow to creases and her cheeks bulge, her mouth widens and her body begins to spasm.  Although my head hurts I am firstly worried about my mother, she is convulsing now and her hand is held over her mouth, her breathing is erratic and interspersed by strange squeaks as she gasps for breath.  The squeaks get louder and are now joined by grunts and shouts.  Her eyes are so creased up that I can barely see them, tears are streaming from her eyes.  I then I realise.  I am generally not the sharpest tool in the box and at four years old was a little behind schedule. For a moment her convulsions lessen and her hand comes away from her mouth to reveal a broad grin, she caresses my forehead apologetically.  There is a momentary pause; the sound of sheep baying comes back to my ears.  And then it finally happens, my dear mother explodes with laughter, she is laughing at me, unable now to look me in the eye; unashamed raucous laughter, she holds her sides and doubles over bent should her ribs burst.  She has just walked me into a dry stone wall for the fun of it.  This is one of my earliest memories of cruel humour.  I laughed my four year old ass off.

The six mile walk home suddenly became shorter after that moment.  It soon became a game to see if I could catch my mom out from walking me into a wall again. I quickly became adept at this as I spied new targets ahead, but then she soon changed strategy and started walking me into trees and after that cow pat.  It was fun all the way home.

This feeling of nostalgia hit me last week as we carved away at the National Railway Museum, and after that Morecambe Bay.  The sculpting was great to do as always, but the very special thing was my time spent with one of my fellow sand sculptors.  A very talented woman who stole the show with her sign writing at the museum.  But for me it is the little bundle of life that is growing in her belly that is quite amazing, the way her body is changing seemingly every day to allow for it to grow and to nourish it.  I am told that as a man I am so lucky because I can wee standing up, but I would say that having a child grow inside you takes the biscuit.  Two hearts beating inside the same body.  It’s a great time for her now, but also the future, all the moments that her and her child will spend together that will one day become fond memories. Perhaps she too will walk her child into walls for the fun of it.

Jamie

Ps.  A special congratulations to the Mexican Andy Moss for fulfilling a boyhood dream of tooting the horn of a real steam train.  Andy has the actual model of the train he tooted at home.

The Mexican fulfilling his boyhood dream, "Toot, Toot!"

The Mexican fulfilling his boyhood dream, "Toot, Toot!"

National Railway museum sand sculpture

National Railway museum sand sculpture

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

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

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