Sawdust Gets in the Eyes

There I was, surrounded by twenty screaming chainsaws, sawdust swirling through the parking lot, trying very casually not to look like the person crying at a chainsaw art festival. 

Let me explain.

Last weekend was the Sand and Sawdust Festival, a weekend of sand sculpting and live chainsaw carving. My little town strained to contain all the tourists, which made me grumpy. Too grumpy to fight the crowds down to the beach for the sand sculpting. "I'm sure it wouldn't be that great anyway," I told myself.

The next morning, before the tourists stirred, I headed to the beach to see what the tide had left behind. Sadly, only a couple of very detailed sand turkeys remained, stoic and eroding. But if those turkeys told me anything, I'd really missed out. So when I headed home with my rotisserie chicken and a parking spot opened up right next to the chainsaw sculpting, I had to at least take a look. A quick loop, maybe take in a couple of crudely carved bears and sasquatches, and I'd be out of there before the chicken got cold.

Then three things happened.

First: The roar of twenty chainsaws revved up an excitement in my soul I don't understand or am comfortable with.

Second: Sure, there were bears, but there were also octopuses, sea turtles, wolves, herons, each one in a completely different style. An entire wild kingdom emerging from raw wood.

Third: Across the asphalt, I saw a chainsaw sculpture so beautiful it made me bawl fat, silent tears like a BBC heroine who's just lost her family to the workhouse.

The artist, Sylvia Itzen, was the only female sculptor at the festival and the only one doing abstract work. I found out later that she's a world-renowned German chainsaw artist who's been featured on the Discovery Channel. And here she was. In my little town. In a parking lot. Next to the wiener truck.

The pictures here don't do her work justice. Honestly, I was too embarrassed about the tears to get closer.

As I drove home — sweating groceries, wood chips in my hair — I felt full and grateful. I'd been one bad mood and a parking spot away from missing something special. 

Now, I'm not saying every heavy mood needs lifting or every rainbow needs chasing. But every once in a while, a cold chicken sandwich is a pretty good tradeoff for a little magic.