On Day Two, January 16, 2009, the Ice Sculpture called "Promises" by Steuart Bremner continues to take shape.
Steuart left early to cut pieces of ice and cover them before the sun came over Galibier Pass and hit his work area. The Tour de France bicycle race has a habit of going over this pass one direction or another every summer. Le Col de Galibier is also often the site of spectacular crashes and more spectacular climbing along with other notorious passes like Alp d'Huez.
I'll not bore you with tales of more great food, just be aware that we had a starter course, a main course, wine, and a disappointing mere bowl of fruit for dessert and a great coffee before retiring for a wee nap before going out for the afternoon work that could only commence once the sun again went behind the mountains. This time it went to the west behind the black beaked mountain that I was told the name of in a long amount of French syllables and can only remember that I heard the translation of one that meant "Dominator." Sunlight faded entirely from the rosy edges to blackness and still the chain saws worked to cut ice. Small sounds of ice chisels were the only other noise. Steuart was heating up the non-steam style iron he'd bought in St. Michel. He was going to iron the ice sheets, and stick them together into the first box by melting them and holding them together until they froze. The temperature in this ski resort was a mere -7 Celsius, about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. The freezing was going painfully slow. The mental pressure of placing the planes of the first box so that it would be perfect when more and more boxes of ice were stacked on top was stressful. Once the base box was in place there was going to be no going back. There wasn't enough ice to make a new one, and obtain the height Steuart wanted, and unsticking the frozen slabs would mean almost sure breakage. This isn't like welding, Steuart realized, where when you make a mistake you just heat it up and reposition and weld again.
Although it was warm for a winter night, standing and working out in it was also mentally exhausting, not to mention the fact that we were barely accustomed to being 8 hours ahead in time. The warm vegetable puréed soup was wonderful when we returned to the group table surrounded by artists. We sat surrounded by French speakers and by the fish course, we were silently hanging in and just trying to understand what was being said.
After dinner, it was out to make more boxes. After 2 a.m. Steuart returned in serious worry about how little he'd gotten done, and worried about the sanity of his project in its entirety. I slept and worked. Preserved my strength.
Steuart left early to cut pieces of ice and cover them before the sun came over Galibier Pass and hit his work area. The Tour de France bicycle race has a habit of going over this pass one direction or another every summer. Le Col de Galibier is also often the site of spectacular crashes and more spectacular climbing along with other notorious passes like Alp d'Huez.
I'll not bore you with tales of more great food, just be aware that we had a starter course, a main course, wine, and a disappointing mere bowl of fruit for dessert and a great coffee before retiring for a wee nap before going out for the afternoon work that could only commence once the sun again went behind the mountains. This time it went to the west behind the black beaked mountain that I was told the name of in a long amount of French syllables and can only remember that I heard the translation of one that meant "Dominator." Sunlight faded entirely from the rosy edges to blackness and still the chain saws worked to cut ice. Small sounds of ice chisels were the only other noise. Steuart was heating up the non-steam style iron he'd bought in St. Michel. He was going to iron the ice sheets, and stick them together into the first box by melting them and holding them together until they froze. The temperature in this ski resort was a mere -7 Celsius, about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. The freezing was going painfully slow. The mental pressure of placing the planes of the first box so that it would be perfect when more and more boxes of ice were stacked on top was stressful. Once the base box was in place there was going to be no going back. There wasn't enough ice to make a new one, and obtain the height Steuart wanted, and unsticking the frozen slabs would mean almost sure breakage. This isn't like welding, Steuart realized, where when you make a mistake you just heat it up and reposition and weld again.
Although it was warm for a winter night, standing and working out in it was also mentally exhausting, not to mention the fact that we were barely accustomed to being 8 hours ahead in time. The warm vegetable puréed soup was wonderful when we returned to the group table surrounded by artists. We sat surrounded by French speakers and by the fish course, we were silently hanging in and just trying to understand what was being said.
After dinner, it was out to make more boxes. After 2 a.m. Steuart returned in serious worry about how little he'd gotten done, and worried about the sanity of his project in its entirety. I slept and worked. Preserved my strength.
