Friday, 27 March 2009
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Suddenly, a loud, authoritive voice behind me. “Move beck, now, ok?”
With this, the stranger motioned with his hand for the crowd to move away from the ruin. A mass exodus inched back, not too far, though, as prevailing curiosity is often a strong need to be filled. Furthermore, the stranger wasn’t telling us to go.. We just had to move back…
“Go on, move beck!” We moved back some more, like a choreographed troupe.
The stranger lifted his other arm and positioned the butt of a rifle, cradle-style in his neck. He aimed at the writhing bull. Silence. The stranger was standing very still. Then, slowly, his finger squeezed the trigger….
It only took one shot. The bull swayed from side to side. There was a gasp, and several cries from behind me. The once whitewashed walls of the old barn drew my attention: splatters and streaks of bright red blood, starkly shocking, defaced the aged patina. Then, as the bovine carcass thudded to the floor, a semi distorted mass of muscle and sinew, I realised what I had witnessed.
I had witnessed a slaughter.
Oh, the delight on the Machinist's face as he navigated it around the empty bowels of the Shop.
"Look, Babe - it works - after all this time..."
The contraption is a hand operated 'Pallet Jack' and is primarily used for lifting pallets - encumbered with heavy loads. That's not what we've used it for, though. Oh no. This is our Manual Muscle, used in places where the trusty Forklift cannot nor will not dare to tread.
Case at hand: we had to remove a wooden post, which stood in the middle of the Shop. A lone, unwanted sentry. And yet - a sentry called for duty to hold up part of the ceiling. For days, Number One Son had been working on a 200mm thick piece of channel - at least 6m long to replace the need of the sentry and to house a spaghetti mix of electrical cable, and it was Mr Manual Muscle that saved the day by lifting the channel to the height of the ceiling while the Machinist and Son welded both ends of the beam in place. Naturally, I had the labour intensive job of moving the lever you see in the photo, heightening and lowering the tines, which never even blinked at the weight it had to bear.
Yes, there's much stamina and grunt in sixty plus year olds. Don't ever be fooled about that!
Another part of the paint supply, surrounded by miscellany. When you're pushed for time, you tend to 'dump'. Let's see ... we've got a crate full of manual tools such as screwdrivers, clamps, chisels, hammers, and a metal saw. Tubs of nails. A box of dust masks. Plastic cups for impromptu bottles of soft-drink. A flood light. Wood preparations. A wooden ladder.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
This is privy 3 section A
This is privy 3, section B
Saturday, 14 March 2009
The front door, wide open
Perhaps we we will be open and perhaps, we won't. It's hard to give an exact date when you don't even know yourself.
Site of the 8 metre cafe serving counter
This evening, I transferred all my notes from a variety of sources to one main, handbag-compliant diary which I bought yesterday. On one of the pages, I have a diagram, which looks like a scientifically depicted molecule; the nucleus is "Metalsmithery", with a number of 'appendages' - (sub-categories) - attached to it, as follows:General Administration, MYOB, Suppliers, Budget, Legals, Packaging, Insurance, Marketing, Cafe, The Bakery, Printing, Advertising, The Gallery, Finance, Website, Blog, Council and Health.
Site of Gallery hearth
I know there will be more, as I delve deeper into each of these necessary sub-categories. I have to smile, though, because the whole project seems so close, and yet so far away. Soon, very soon, the bricks and mortar building to be known as Metalsmithery, will look beautiful and functional, and not messy and distinctively building site-ish.
The Machinist and Samuel-son... after a hard day's graft.
And I know, I truly know that if we build it, they WILL come.
To be continued....
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Roller coasting mental thoughts. It gets like that when you don't know if you're Arthur or Martha, Coming or Going, Piggy or Twiggy (well, I know what I am in the latter example... oink oink ...). The outside Shop painting is now finished. As a bonus, my balance has improved a hundred fold and I can now scamper-climb like an African monkey on the forklift (and in other places), and so many local folk who pass by, seem to stare, half hanging out of their driver's side car window. It must look like that scene from the Sound of Music, where the Captain and his girlfriend are cruising and they see his children hanging from the branches in the tree-lined avenue. We'd be the children, - hanging - minus the clothing made from old drapery, plus the paint splattered T's and peddle pushers.
This week, I attempted to remove the vinyl tiles from the floor in what was once the outdoor toilets (they are now inside toilets). They are filthy dirty! The porcelain bowls are broken, and the urinal needs new stainless steel. The Machinist, in an effort to satisfy the concerns of the girls who will have to clean said urinal, assured them that he will manufacture a urinal to prevent boastful attempts of high flyers. The design he has in mind curves at the top, which would result in self-saturation.
That should trick 'em!
This evening we drew up a game-plan. The Machinist is to make a grand entrance step, manufactured from checker-plate and flanked by windows which were once doors. The girls and I are to sand the cement floor, ready for painting with a non-slip preparation, and Sam is to manufacture a supporting beam, which will eliminate the need for a pole in the middle of the gallery floor.
I love having a plan.
I'm also a list freak!