"Metal Artwork"

[degri...@delphi.com]

July 12, 1996 "Metal Artwork"

I was in Ridge, Long Island, on a piece of property owned by the
state agency where I used to work as a wildlife biologist. This
place was sometimes called the Game Farm, since it had once been one,
but we more often referred to it simply as "Ridge." During the last
year I had worked here, my department had established a nature trail
through the woods and fields of the property, and I had now come here
to walk on the trail with my dog.

I had parked my truck and walked over toward a building or shelter
located in the same general area as the little building we called
the Check Station. I now saw someone walking toward me from the
direction of the trail, a bearded man in his early forties, with
light brown hair, who was developing a slight middle-aged stoutness.
It looked like--yes, it was--Steve S., who recognized me at the same
time as I recognized him. What a coincidence that Steve and I
should both be visiting here on the same day! Steve had moved off
Long Island shortly before I had, to take a promotion upstate, so I
wouldn't have expected to see him here at Ridge.

Steve and I greeted each other amiably. Steve had been the manager
of the freshwater wetlands bureau, down the hall from the wildlife
office where I worked. He and I had not known each other extremely
well, but I had the greatest personal and professional admiration
for him, and I sensed that he also liked and respected me,
recognizing me as someone who, like him, was intelligent,
reasonable, and a good biologist.

Steve remarked that they hadn't seen much of me around the office
since I had stopped working there. (It now seemed as if he were
still working on Long Island.) That was true, and as I thought about
why it was so, I began to feel some confusion over the situation in
which I found myself. I hadn't been able to visit my friends at the
office because I had moved all the way across the country after
leaving my job on Long Island. And I knew that I still lived across
the country and had not been back to New York since I left, so it
didn't actually seem possible that I could be here at Ridge talking
to Steve.

I felt a certain sense of unreality about the situation. I wasn't
sure how to explain to Steve why I had not visited the office, since
the actual reason seemed at odds with the fact that I was apparently
here on Long Island now. I thought of saying that I had moved out
of state after quitting my job, but had now come back on a visit.
That would be a reasonable explanation, but it didn't feel true to
me.

I asked Steve if he had seen anything interesting on the trail, and
he replied that he hadn't. Not surprising, I thought. Late morning
on a warm July day wasn't the best time to see birds or other
wildlife. I then asked Steve if he had a map of the trail. It
seemed that was what I had been looking for when I came over to this
building. He said he did have one, and started looking for it in a
bag or backpack, while we stood in the shade of a porch or shelter.
But as soon as I asked about the map, I realized I really didn't need
him to give me one. I could easily find my way around the trail
without it, and anyway, I thought I had one in my truck.

Steve and I were now on opposite sides of a table. He pulled
something out of his bag and handed it to me. I expected it to be
the map, but I saw that it was actually a sheet of metal, about the
size of a piece of notebook paper and about 5 or 10 millimeters
thick. Actually, it was not a single sheet; it had been pieced
together out of many small bits of metal, in slightly varying shades,
that fit together almost like puzzle pieces.

I gathered that this was something Steve had made himself. I knew
he was a rather talented artist, who drew and painted and made
things out of wood. But I hadn't known that he worked with metal
like this. I got the idea it was something new he had recently
tried.

I studied this piece of work admiringly. The surface was almost, but
not quite, flat; the slight undulations and texturing made it more
interesting and visually appealing, as did the various colors of the
different metal pieces. I liked the piece even more once I realized
I had been holding it upside down, and turned it around. Now I could
see that the pieces were arranged to form what at first looked like a
map of the United States, with each state a different piece of metal,
and then looked more like a landscape. I told Steve how much I liked
it. What impressed me most was the skillful way the small pieces of
metal, with their slightly irregular shapes, had been fitted so
closely together.

I began to wonder how he had made this. As I looked at it now, it
seemed less like a picture. What I saw was a number of tiny, very
intricate metal shapes, like puzzle pieces, but only about 10
millimeters wide, fitted into a larger sheet of metal. I asked how
he had made these tiny metal puzzle pieces. I couldn't imagine how
it could be done. They seemed too little to have been cut out with
anything resembling scissors or a saw, and it was hard to imagine a
tool strong enough to punch the shapes out of metal this thick.

Steve seemed at a loss for how to explain the technique he had used.
"It's dumb," he mumbled with a sheepish smile, as I continued to
question him. It seemed strange that he should find it so hard to
put into words how he had made this piece. He began to mention the
technical names for some of the pieces of metal, or the tools he had
used, showing me a piece of paper or book that had illustrations of
some of them, labelled with words that meant nothing to me. I just
wanted a brief, simple description of how one might cut out such tiny
intricate pieces of metal and fit them into a larger piece, but he
seemed unable to provide it.

I suddenly remembered that my dog was waiting in my truck, out in the
sun. The windows were open, but I still didn't like the idea of her
sitting out there too long, since the day was getting quite warm. I
told Steve that I needed to go check on my dog, and started walking
over to the truck. I thought maybe I could just let her out; there
was no one around but me and Steve, so there should be no harm in
letting her run around a little. I thought Steve might even be
mildly interested in seeing her. I had the idea that he had often
heard me talk about my dog, but had never actually seen her before.