I have seen the way I can make the mold for my current project, Twisty III. I guess that’s what time off, taking trips and seeing new stuff does for for you. This is a sketch for the mold which will do the hollow head part:
This is a top view through the head. It will be a 4 part mold with a core piece that is meant to be cut away after the wax is poured into the mold and removed. The mold is made with effectively a solid head, but designed in a way to be easily removed from the cast part, making a hollow head. Easy that is, if it is wax, which is soft enough to be cut out with small tools. Much more difficult to do in a hard material like plaster or plastic. Seems this is going to be a bronze project after all.
This is a side view of the core piece to be modeled into the head cavity from the angle of one quadrant:
It will still take two more parts at least to do the body, so a six piece mold is going to take some time to do, and will be the most complicated ever, for me. It is going to take time. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the greatest sculptor that ever lived, could do this; I should at least try.
I was in Washington DC last week, going to the museums there. It was a good moment for me to take a break from working on my own stuff and re-charge my art batteries. I saw many fine things and was reminded that the reason I’m not in the museum is that I suck compared to the things you find there that have stood the test of time. I’m not talking about, for instance, the whole of the New York School of abstract painters, all of which will be forgotten when the living generation of people who talk the line about them die off. Except Jackson Pollock, OK. I mean something more, like the wealth of 19th and 18th century French sculpture which resides like ballast of the ship of post renaissance sculptural history.
From the Baroque to Modernism, this French sculpture stayed the course for 300 years. A panther attacking a horse upon which standing a naiad holding the reins of four stallions pulling a chariot made from a scallop shell rolling on top of two porpoises. A nobleman in a lace collar and ermine fur doublet caught in the wind with an elaborately coiffed and curled wig. I stood for as long as fifteen minutes before some of these, spellbound by the sequential vortex of complimentary details demonstrating the infinitude of creation. Like the psychedelic experience of looking at a dandelion, mesmerized, seeing more and more, on and on into infinity, the nuance and subtly of the beauty and wonder of its construction.
notes: Jules Dalou, Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux
I have this done to the point of my vision; established the structure of the crossing spirals, out of my head and into the flesh, as it were. What I have now though, puzzles me.
I’m not at all understanding how I’ll take this from model to production. I can hardly make a mold of something with such interior\exterior, positive\negative spaces, unless in at least four and maybe five or six parts, if at all. The complexity is daunting and far from the spontaneous flowing water-and-smoke ideal of why I did the Splash pieces. Multiple cast parts welded together? More work.
I’ve thought to continue the model, closing up the open interior spaces by thickening up the spiral elements. This would give something bulkier and thick, Olmec I’m thinking. Still, I’m not sure that’s possible and keep the flow at the core of the piece. In order for it to spiral, mustn’t it be hollow at the center? Who can picture clearly a solid tornado? How do the spirals turn across each other if there is no circumference to the inner arc? This is what I’m going to try next anyway.
If it can’t be molded, it could be carved from a solid block. Uh, … I’m not ready for that.