When my hands are busy my mind is free to reach for new horizons. I draw myself into this orbit of concentration, engage in meticulously organised physical activity and in a parallel world my mind goes wondering, where it will go, where it will go…*
In Holland I lived in a huge farmhouse for 30 years. In it I developed three workshops to do my sculpting in wood. I started out in a closet, adjacent to the living room, that used to be a box bed. Soon I moved the dust cloud to a satellite room and the bed box became a brain box, where, while my hands where busy with small objects, my thoughts drifted into more ambitious ventures. When I went extra-large the several-ton enterprises like Kè-Gaghel first landed in the barn, but for lack of light I moved outside where I set up a hoop house. In fair weather I drew back the plastic sheet, in winter the sun or at least my action provided enough warmth. Whatever tools I needed I bought or fabricated myself. I thought in tools, called them 'the fingers of creation' and my only limit was my imagination.
When I went to live in the van I only kept the very essentials. I moved my focus to the computer and went into writing, but I missed the thrill of something tangible growing out of my hands, the accompanying contemplation, a shelter with instrumental potential.
In 2008 I bought plastic pipes and a sail cloth with which I could set up a tent to the backdoors of my van (Dolphin Address 47, 2008). That took an hour and because it was attached to the van it grounded me. I worked through the winter and made my ever since beloved Humpback WaterWing.
But that was it. Losing nearly two hours of winter daylight to setting and breaking up the tent was a curse of inefficiency. But I could hardly resist the itch in my fingers and drilled several holes in the table top in my van to fixate my vice jaws. I made a few little sculptures, but there was hardly room to move, not to mention the splinters that sprayed across my bed.
It's taken a while, but my last attempt to find shelter resulted in a nifty construction. The huge table I built a few years ago provided hold and weight. From four beams I found washed up a mile down the rocks and two planks of snake wood I constructed a skeleton and lined it with fish nets. Across it I spanned my old sail cloth and screwed it to the beams under plastic pipes, sawed in halves. The connections in between are plastic pipes through which I tightened rope runs. The hinged connecting planks, together with the beams hinged to the table and the adjustable counter beams, allow a versatile shelter against wind and rain. On good weather days I can set it high. When the wind comes from the sea I lower that angle to lessen resistance and when it comes from the mountain I do likewise on the other side. When it comes from the North I drive the van before it and from the south it is largely sheltered by a stone wall. It takes five minutes to set it up and if I don't trust the weather I put it flat on the ground. When a storm comes in I can even weigh it down by driving the van onto it.
It can be cold and draughty and maybe not ideal, but it allows enough comfort to concentrate on my hands and then my mind goes wandering, where it will go, where it will go…*
*Free after George Harrison: 'I'm fixing a hole where the rain goes in'