Sagadahoc Story #71: 12/20/98

It finally came off cold enough to go digging for longjohns. Even got a couple inches of snow, and enough chill for it to stick around. Sunday morning I was putting the 100 grit to this double portrait when I saw the eaves dripping, and realized I'd better put on the sliding sticks, if I was going to shush before it melted away.

I'd gone into the woods in my shop rig: jeans, hooded sweatshirt and sanding vest, with a hat and gloves. By the time I'd circled round to the road everything was wide to the weather, hat in pocket, and snow down my neck. I panted home along the gritty shoulder, dripping wet, ready for another sanding spell in the Eagles.

The piece at hand is my only big commission this Christmas, but I'm just as anxious as in the days when I had a dozen orders to deliver. Something about making promises, and setting marks to reach. As usual, I'm not totally pleased with the product, while I know it's exactly what was intended. It's a gift to the owners of our local mini-factory from all the employees. This is a med-tech outfit that manufactures nerve probes for neural surgery and the like. Nasty little wire gadgets and black metered boxes out of sci-fi. I'm concocting a mechanical double portrait to amuse the manufacturers.

It can't be often that everyone in a business pools their pennies to buy fancy art toys for the bosses, but these bosses are something special. Fred and Jill treat everyone like family. Bonuses, daycare support, long medical leaves, and an unfailing sense of mutual benefit make FHC the dream employer, and the crew is fiercely loyal. The operation is in the old shoe factory at the landing, hard by Jeanine's, and I share lunch space with half the staff. They know my stuff, and Nina, Jimmy's ex, who's on the payroll, has custody of one: the duckcall portrait of Jimmy I made for them. She convinced the others to order a Christmas surprise from the toymaker.

FHC Inc.

(Incidentally: Jimmy the Duck has a broken leg, a cracked beak, and his quacker is hoarse. Maybe emblematic of the marriage. I've taken it (the toy) back for repairs. Now you blow in its mouth to get it to squawk, but I think I'll reverse the mechanism, so you can blow up his ass. Nina would like that.)

When Fred and Jill were in San Diego peddling their wares I was given a tour of the factory, and consulted with the staff about the piece. It's always dicey trying to please a committee. Everyone has a message they want included. But this crew simply gave me ingredients, and turned me loose. The lack of friction, and the unambiguous praise everyone has for the bosses, makes me eager to get it right.

The outfit is called Fred Haer Corporation, and it was easy to see him as a wild hare. He's a basketball player, and there's a hoop in the parking lot out back, so getting the hare to shoot some hoops seemed spot on. She's got a little collie called Lady, who comes to work with them, so turning her into a canine cheerleader filled the bill. Their sailboat is under canvas behind Jeanine's, and adding it to the mix put these caricatures on board: he's hooking shots into a hoop mounted on the mast, she's cheering him on. The basket looks like one of FHC's probes. The Secret Santas came up with a fistful of photos of the subjects, and we were away.

I set out by rummaging the woodpile for a hull and a base to set it on. My lumber inventory is pretty thin, and the size of this piece would be determined by how big a boat I could cogitate. After much flipping and shuffling I came up with a fat hunk of rock maple which promised a hint of curly, to suggest water reflection on the hull. A darkened plank of cherry looked to be big enough, and figured enough, to suggest a slice of water.

So would The Lady be as big as The Haer? Was this about gender roles in the business? Was there room on the boat for a big dog, too? Yup. By the time I had her face carved it was obvious she'd be his match, in scale and in absurdity. Getting all her internal riggage to function, so she kicks and waves her arms when you work her tail, took a bit of fussage, but eventually the whole illusion took shape. Now for the finishing touches.

I've said that the inner meaning of these things, the message to me that's hidden in them, tends to rise slowly out of their making. It's a curious superstition that has you seeking symbolic answers in a toyshop. But that's what fuels my enthusiasm now, when I play at toymaking. Otherwise it seems like retrogression. This piece, particularly, feels like something I might have made ten years ago. It has the lumpen crudity of proportion that mimics an earlier style. Like a caricature of the Toymaker's work. That's perfect for this order. It's what the crew expects, but it makes me nervous to think I'm backsliding. What's kept me grinding and grinning is my search for subtext. The secret story.

This week the search is full of fear and hope. Peggy is going into the hospital on Tuesday for surgery to remove an early malignancy. That's what all my talk of winter bears and laughing seals was about. We've gone through shock and terror, denial and anger and resignation, to positive assurance and laughter. Another bad joke from the master humorist. I can't but wonder what the toy augury has to say.

This sloop feels like a life to me, as all boats do. A frail contraption to carry us across the water. I've fastened this one securely to its bit of sea.

Toy Portrait

I had trouble figuring the hare, until he strutted out his slapstick routine. The Trickster, of course. Brer Rabbit. That old joker of the Mississippian. Creator and destroyer. The sacred clown. This time playing with medical devices, and slamming it home for two. I thought about the sacred games of Meso-America, and how they must have come into the American stream with the corn cultures. Into the South of trickster hare. How tossing a ball through a hoop might symbolize life or death.

I'm still uncertain about The Lady dog. Is she some benevolent spirit who cheers us on? Is she the part of Peggy who finds perfect ease dabbling her feet over the bow of a boat? The enthusiast who hurrahs the best in us? The loyal companion? Or the necessary pursuit to run the hare? I'm not sure. Is this piece about dualities, in our nature or our fate? Or is it about couples? I'm glad there's a couple on this boat, and the score looks good. Whatever the secret, I think we can take the joke.