A love affair with stone.
In mid September of 1994 I was walking along English Bay. I passed by a fellow named Darryl who was balancing rocks on the beach. Fascinated by his skill and the visual effects he created, I observed for a minute or two and engaged him in a brief chat. I asked if he was familiar with the work of Andy Goldsworthy, the British artist known for his fabulous creations in the natural environment. He shrugged. I walked on after dropping a loon in his busking guitar case at the sidewalk. Before long he attracted considerable public and media attention; rock balancing had captured Vancouver's imagination.
A
week later I was whiling away an afternoon on the seawall between Dundarave
and Ambleside. I began playing with some rocks, vaguely curious to see
if I could duplicate the feat. Half an hour later, success! I dismissed
it as pure beginner's luck yet strangely, felt compelled to continue.
A few more hours and I had balanced well over a dozen.
Intrigued by a sense of self-discovery and spurred by an unabashed awe
from the stream of passersby, I continued at this location, on and off,
for a few weeks. Many people would subsequently mistake me for my counterpart,
which prompted me to put up a small sign, "Not As Seen On T.V." :-)
Examples of rock 'totem building' exist throughout the world; the practice
likely having been around since ancient times (Arctic inukshuk for one).
I suspect that after the local novelty of this particular manifestation
has worn off, these structures will continue to inspire and entertain
viewers wherever they are created. Upon each encounter one is struck
by a paradox, an eerie presence that is at once human and alien -- a
baffling intervention upon the environment. These placements are highly
improbable, yet not impossible.
Rock balancing proved to be a refreshing diversion from my preoccupation
with text. There's something innately satisfying and wholesome in working
with rock in the outdoors. I'm reluctant to categorize the activity
in artistic terms. For me, it has been more akin to meditation than
artistic practice.
The most frequently asked question from spectators, aside from wondering
if glue was involved was, "How long will they stay up?" Some
stood for a few minutes, yet many survived for 24 hours and longer.
Their precarious lifespan part of the magic, of course.
Tom S. Thomas
North Vancouver
November 1994
