7/3/98.. Two bits.

My fifty cent piece is done. A difficult woman right to the end. I installed Marilyn in a Portland gallery window Wednesday afternoon, between showers, and was glad to have her out of the shop.

Getting her face right was a puzzle until the last file stroke. At least two observers remarked that Marilyn's features were surprisingly Afro-American in this piece, which rankled me initially, as a criticism. But I realized afterwards that it was HER features they were remarking, and my carving of them was just a revealing portrayal. In fact her face was protean. A master makeup artist, Marilyn had as many different faces as roles she played, or poses she struck.

Wasn't that her gift, finally, and the reason she is the one actress in our lifetime who has become an icon? That she was everybody's baby. We could project our fantasies on her. What I saw as vapid in her early photos, was simple transparency. We looked through her into ourselves. There was no one Marilyn, she was what we saw in her. No wonder she was so desperate.

The King, on the other side of the window, was absolutely distinct, and now there are a million imitators.

I had trouble with Marilyn's mechanism, which reminded me how frustrating wooden devices can be. Elvis was a pain, too, back in the foggy mists. But I forget all the cursing between episodes. Each design is a marginal improvement over the last, but the goal of the perfect whimsy is always just beyond reach, laughing.

To operate this illusion you put your JFK into a purpleheart coin receptacle, and it drops through the subway grate, falling into a slot which connects two walnut wheels 4 inches high. One wheel, or disk, is connected to a crank handle on the outside of the base box. The other disk is on an axle which runs through the box, and drives the machinery. When the half dollar is in the slot, it locks the two disks together, and when you turn the crank you drive the axle, actually a cam shaft. As the axle turns, two double-lobed cams rotate, pushing against fixed cams connected to the grate overhead. These, in turn, pull on cords running up through the grate and inside Marilyn's legs. The cords are connected to the front sections of her skirt, which swing up and open like a fan, when the cords are pulled. So long as you keep rotating the crank, the skirts fan open and shut, twice in each revolution. When you slow down, the coin drops out of the slot, by gravity, and rolls through another groove, out of the box.

That's the idea, at least. The cam shaft has a rosewood counter weight that is supposed to swing the driven disk into the slot-up position for the next coin, and the oak crank handle has a fat osage orange rotating knob handle that also drops, and swings the drive disk slot-up. Sometimes. There's always enough friction in these gizmos to make things awkward. Knowing this I ran the crankshaft out the far end of the box, and put a nice meaty purpleheart knob on it, so you can manually align the slots, or shake the Jack out of the machinery.

Using braided nylon fishing twine for rigging means you can drive remote effects via drilled passageways, but it also means you have to allow for stretch, both in daily operation, and over time. This necessitates periodic adjustments. Usually that's as simple as moving a stopper knot a fraction of an inch, but you have to plan ahead, by providing access to your rigging. It took me years to figure that out. I've sawed open a number of old toys whose twine has stretched.

In Elvis I ran the rigging lines down through the bottom of his mechanism box, so you could move the stopper knots from the underside, without opening the box. This was a great idea, except the grooved cams the lines ran over tended to shrug off the rigging periodically. The whole shebang was held together by screws from the underside (I started using hidden metal fastenings, in violation of my original all-wood ethic, some years ago, when I'd pushed the limits of wood connectors far enough), and I was forever throwing THE KING down on his back and disassembling his guts. I finally got his glitches out, I think.

So with Everybody's Baby I tried the same tactic at first. Ran her skirt lifter lines through fairleads, over her double-lobed cams, and down through the bottom of the box. When I did her final assembly Wednesday morning, I was stunned to find that the tension on her lines kept the camshaft from freewheeling, and rotating back to top dead center, after the JFK dropped out of the slot. O no. There I was with promises to keep, and a cranky broad who refused to act right.

I hate these photo finishes.

That's when I did a quick redesign, and connected her skirt lifters to secondary cams attached to the grate. I had already decided to top-fasten the grate (to which Marilyn is attached) onto the box with four visible brass screws. That's how far I've come: exposing my screws. What this means is: it's a snap to unscrew the machinery from the illusion, tinker with the gizmos, and reassemble. I'm learning.

I had the babe oiled and waxed by noon. When I tried to photograph her outside in the nicely clouded light, it started to pour. Again. The mushrooms are competing with the grass in this swamp, and the thirsty vegetables are grown rank. One neighbor reports her dogs are mildewed. The tide is still nudging up to flood stage.

I felt like a backwater boy dealing with this gallery dealer in Portland. For openers she didn't like my lawn ornaments of Marilyn and the King. Thought they were too.. she paused for effect.. "Kitschy?" I offered. "Well, yes," she agreed. This is amusing when you look at all the arch art in her estab. The trouble is my ornaments are too pop glossy to be "authentic." I just can't get it right. When I tried to sell ornaments to the roadside dealers back in the 80s, they said my efforts were too "arty." Too hand painted. They wanted airbrushed production items. Obviously I should have made Elvis out of barn boards for the gallery trade and stenciled them for Route 1.

Then she didn't like my prices for the carvings. Which is especially ironic since the last few shows I've done provoked quibbles over prices in the other direction. I've always tried to suit the ticket to the trade, to move the merchandise, but the previous dealers have insisted on jacking the price. Now when I price up in a more affluent marketplace, I get slapped down. I argued that a Marilyn and and Elvis were cult items, and anyone who was hot to buy them wasn't going to be shocked by a bold bill. She said she had a ceiling she didn't want to exceed. Made me feel sleazy, begging for a higher price. We compromised.

I'm not cut out for the gallery biz, I'm reminded. I don't have the sophisticated attitude. Too much time and craft in the carvings. You are supposed to make it simple, toss it off, be gestural. Too much.. kitschy.. in the lawn ornaments. The AHT world just doesn't get it about yahdaht. Very curious to be making things that just don't fit in the galleries. How nice.

Nicer still to be making things that fit on the outside walls. Jim Torbert showed up Thursday morning with his pickup, and we loaded up the big bird, and laced him down. Funny looking load.

Another photofinish. I hadn't decided how to mount him until Wednesday afternoon on the way home from Portland. Everyone had a better idea, and they all sounded good to me. In the end I went with Brent's suggestion that I use wooden brackets, an brute labor to lift him into place. I'd actually bought pulleys and cable hardware, but decided to go with what I know best: basic wood construction and grunt labor.

All this week I've been waking at 4AM with puzzles in my head, and stumbling out to the shop by 5 to face the day's confusions. Thursday around dawn I began constructing hangers and brackets, and a template to align them. The image had to be transported in pieces (it ended up being 16'X14' overall), and the hangers had to bridge the junctions as well as carry the load. I determined on throughbolted spans of 1X4 hemlock, and laid it all out on the deck. Drilled my holes. Then disassembled it for travel.

Jim was a bit anxious, having noticed the day before that his registration and inspection were long overdue, but he was game to run the gantlet of Route 1 on a holiday weekend, in a good cause.There as a fair breeze puffing, and he hooed as a crosswind off the Androscoggin lurched us on the bypass bridge. I was too punchy to be fazed. We made it to Sebasco without incident, however.

Ah the incongruities of the summer coast. You catch idyllic glimpses of Kennebec marshes, and lighthouses, on the road down, then views of eastern Casco Bay open out on the Sebasco road. Salt and granite realities. You then turn into the resort, cross the golf course, and roll downhill into neverneverland. Everyone is at tasteful leisure, without too much gauche gold showing. A bunch of the boys are already well lubed at the bar, grinning white out of their deepwater tans. Nubile teenagers just happen to be strolling back and forth where the matching testosterites are lolling, ever so nonchalant. The beer runs to $3.50 a glass. The costumes are designer dressdown.

We cruise in with our outlandish load, and commence to attack the wall. Naturally I have the wrong fasteners. Haven't shimmed the hangers and brackets enough to allow for the shingles on the building. Am just exhausted enough to fumble every move. Jim and Peggy ignore my crankyness, good naturedly, from long experience. Feed me lager.

We upset the bar patrons by banging on the back of the mirrored bar. We hoped to shake down a single malt, but don't even get offered free lunch for our efforts.

I'd called the press, figuring that an eagle picture on the 2nd of July was a sure sale, and we'd postponed our arrival to meet the photographer's schedule. Peggy bought me a red white and blue striped shirt. She says that if you wear something red your picture gets on the front page, a trick she's used to good effect on school stories. I remembered to change into the gaudy thing before the press showed up.

After the average ado the bird was assembled on the ground, and the brackets mounted on the wall. We dragooned some of the resort crew, and made like Iwo Jima for the cameraman. (Those of you getting pictures: this one ran on the front page of the state section of the Portland Press Herald this morning. Peggy's up the ladder. That's Jim on the far right.) Up and jiggle, little left, little right, push there, and CLUNK. It flys.

Looks dandy. The patron is happy, and I'm tickled. He takes me around the corner of the building to discuss a design for the next one. This time I'm designing it from the brackets out, and it will go up in easily managed pieces which lock together on the wall. Maybe after a dozen of these things I'll get it figured out.

Right now I'm going to figure out how to get around some fresh garden peas, and soak up some sunshine. We've finally got a little on tap. Hope you have a sunny 4th, too.