Jamie's blog

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

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.

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.

I’m laying down on a grassy knoll that is perched on the top of a sea cliff just out of Pendine in Wales. I’ve taken the path along the coast for a quick stroll and saw this nice little spot just a few yards away.  There are gulls flying over above, the occasional chaff chaffing away.  I’m now facing the sky and listening to the waves thundering against the cliffs and sending spray up in the air, it is high tide and a storm has just passed, their barrage against the cliffs is relentless.  I have a deep sense of contentment that glows inside against the cold wind and light rain.  I am beginning to doze off into a gentle welcomed sleep, I am totally still now, arms splayed out and the waves singing to me, the birds beginning to take flight in my dreams, their song in the local dialect, they are speaking as if with real words.  And then their tone begins to change, it starts to become a little harsher, there is a commotion, a sudden distress.

“Oh, my god!” squawks the bird in a thick Welsh accent.  “Look over there!”  There is a shrill scream.  I am becoming very confused, beginning to wake and not sure why the birds are talking and screaming “It’s a body!”  The birds have turned into children, Suddenly I begin to realise I have fallen asleep, I begin to wake, but I was more asleep than I had realised and it takes some time.  “He’s dead!” says a Child’s young voice still very young, but old enough to go and explore by themselves.    My brain is now almost fully awake but my body is way behind.   I manage to move my head.  Another scream at the added shock of the corpse coming to life.  “I’m not dead!”  “Oh my God!” “I’m not dead, it’s OK, I’m not dead, just having a sleep”

“He’s not dead, he’s saying he’s not dead.”  There is then a pause of contemplation followed by a sudden tone of reprimand.  “Well, you could at least have answered when I shouted at you!”

“Sorry, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m not dead.”

And then with a parting shot “I thought I was going to have to resuscitate you!” And then on they went, their voices fading away into the distance.  It is good to know that the children of Wales are all abled to perform resuscitation when required.  I don’t think I disturbed them too much, I’m sure they see English corpses scattered all over the place.

But I welcomed this short sleep on the sea cliff.  As I said, I had a deep sense of contentment inside and its warmth had made me drowsy and seduced me into a sleep.  We had just done something rather marvellous on the beach just in the bay there.  It was once again an example of being in a special place whilst making something quite spectacular with some simply amazing people, especially those that had volunteered and were embracing the weather sheltering in only their tents.  We had together with those from Aardman and Ed and Will from Sumo Science began to make the largest……

I don’t think I should say yet. 

I arrived in Finland with nobody understanding what I was saying.  ”Jamie, you are talking funny.”

I’d just been to a friends wedding in Denmark but other than that was straight out of Yorkshire and had not yet adapted to my foreign twang.  I spent four minutes trying to ask a new Russian collegue “How long has it taken you to get from Moscow?”  He couldn’t understand a word I was saying.

Then a Finnish friend interjected: “How many hours you travel from Moscow?”  He totally got it.  Kimmo who runs the event then gave me yet another lesson in English.  ”Jamie, when you want suger you just look at the person and say “Sugar.”  Forget all this “May I have and please business!  ”Sugar,” That’s all you need to say”

My time in Finland was spent making two lovely ladies flying on their trapeze.  I have to thank the girl in the yellow top for having available such a nice bum for me to copy just at the right moment.  Julie and Victoria are still there swining away.  I miss them dearly.

Jamie

This was the task put to us on Tuesday afternoon by Louise at the One Show.  I decided that we could.

One of the biggest challenges was to find a team that was able to do it at such a short notice, but to their credit Andy Firth, James Haigh and Thomas Bolland wangled their other work commitments to come on board and make this drawing in sunny Blackpool.  We were also joined again by pandorA who hadn’t blessed us with her presence on a sand drawing since the RSPB gig last year.

I decided that we would make a portrait of Randy Newman, an American singer and songwriter  who was to be on the One Show the following day, he is very famous from the 70’s but now more well known for writing music scores for animation films such as Toy Story.  Mark who was the One Show Producer kept asking me over the phone, “So do you really think you will be able to finish it by 7pm?”  The poor lad had his doubts, “….and do you really think it will look like Randy Newman?”  There was a little strain in his voice as he struggled to comprehend that this was possible.  “We’ll make it by seven and I think it will look like him.”  I was quietly confident.

The following morning we rushed to Blackpool to do a reconnaissance of the beach just before the sea came in.  We would do our measurements for the drawing whilst the beach was still exposed which would be key later in the day so that we could get straight down onto the beach and begin drawing once the tide went back out to make our 7pm deadline.  When you are viewing an image at an angle you have to stretch it in perspective so that it stands up and for this you need to make sure your measurements are correct. For the boffs out there this is called anamorphsis.

After two hours of driving we pulled up to the central pier at Blackpool.  The tide was already in.  We were unable to make our measurements. This was not a good start to the day.

A phone call from Mark: “So it will be finished by 7pm yeagh?”

“Yes.”

Patiently we waited for the tide to subside, waiting for the moment when the sea would reveal some sand and we would fly like rockets.  In the meantime the BBC camera crew of five turned up and we settled a few problems.  At 3pm the sea began to reveal a section of sand, it was time to make our preparations.  Seven o’clock here we come.

At 3:20 there was enough sand for us to do the measurements that we were supposed to do in the morning.  PandorA came by and did her thing.  I hope she is not embarrassed when I say that she is quite amazing.  Totally understated, you would not comprehend her genius if you saw her, but genius she is.  With ease she plotted the image and recorded all the measurements, we are privileged that she was able to join us.  The boys on the ground then began to prepare our gridding system whilst I went to the computer to print off the stretched design.

The printer wasn’t working.  Oh dear.

Oh, it’s not on. Just press the button Mr Wardley.

By 3:50 the grid and our design were all ready. Tom, Andy and I began to draw whilst James raked in the large areas and then finished the lines after we’d drawn them.  It’s an interesting sensation drawing in the sand, there are all the pressures of the camera crew, the incoming tide and the actual project itself, but drawing in the sand is a sensation of tranquillity as you drift off to the place where it is just you and the lines you draw.   I love it.

At 4:30 Mark came down onto the beach from the pier where the image was being viewed.  His whole demeanour had changed and he was beaming with delight, approaching me with a big grin on his face, “It is looking absolutely amazing!”  We were some way from finishing but this was very encouraging as we on the ground had not yet seen the image from above.

“Will you finish it by 7pm?”

“No……  we will finish it by five.”  This sand drawing went very well and we finished it with ease.  After cleaning the image we popped up onto the pier to have a peek at our creation and see what adjustments we had to make.  On looking at it we had to make none.  It worked fine just the way it was and yes I think it did look like dear old Randy Newman as did Randy when he saw it on the show later on.  Thank you Randy Newman for giving us such an interesting face to draw and good luck with your future musical creations!

Again, many thanks to Tom, Andy and James for coming out with me at such a short notice.

Jamie

If you would like to see the one show episode then click the iPlayer link below.  We are at the end of the show!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b010y5lr/The_One_Show_04_05_2011/

When I arrived in Rugen Germany a friend of mine Krists Zarins greeted me with a new excellent shovel already sharpened.  This may seem like a small feat, but a sharp fine small shovel is a sand carvers best tool and is pretty hard to find.

This was then added to by the fact that there was a pool just across from where I was living together with a Sauna.

And then just to round it off nicely we were working on a nature reserve and there were deer and hares all about the place.  And the food was great to as long as you weren’t a vegetarian.

It’s hard being a sand sculptor, but someone’s gotta do it.

Jamie

I find it is important to look to the future so that we can develop ourselves and project where we want to be in time to come.  But I often feel that this is at the expense of now.  When I look back in the past, I do not remember what I wanted to be and where I wanted to go, I remember what I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with.  I remember the moment that was once my present.

Every moment that we have is unique in itself even in the most subtlest form as it is always different and can never be attained again as the ingredients are never the same.  It may be as defined as twenty people drawing in the sand and the sky with lights under a Super Lunar Moon, or as undefined as a parents young child being another day older.  But these undefined moments are just as important and easy to neglect, they may seem mundane but I do not think they are as before you know it the ingredients that make this moment will no longer exist.

A ball of light in the sky and a drawing in the sand is fleeting, immediately epic and then gone.  But these subtle moments are also epic but deceptive as they are so prolonged.  A child may only be one day older today, but one day he will be a man, and one day that man will have fallen from the earth entirely.

These drawings are a representation of cherishing the moment in its most obvious form.  Each stream of light is a person on the beach, each photograph is a person behind a lens.  But when I look at these photographs I remember the laughter of my friends as they moved the lights around on four meter poles, my wet feet, the lighting of a candle to a friend that has departed, the embrace of a friend that had fallen from my consciousness only to return, the jokes that passed over the walkie talkies, the beauty of the night sky, the candle lighting brigade, the fireball that singed hair on legs, the hot dog that was cooked up for everyone before we left the beach, the full moon.

Time is the most precious thing that we have to share and give to each other as one day it will run out.  It expresses itself in the moment in grand and subtle ways.  Enjoy them.

Many thanks to Andy Moss for collaboration on design, and for the drawings themselves Tom bolland, Hannah Bolland, Richard Green, Henri, Thomas Wood, Tim Curtis, Becky Sayers, Jonny Sayers, Rae Owen, Mike Copleston, Ruth, Joel Ingham, Sarah Boocock, Chris Owen and Samantha Yates.

Jamie