Got me thinking.I know my Rousa will have its day. It's a brand-new surfboard, built the old-fashioned way. I met Rousa by accident and we did lots of talking about waves and styles, and how a ship should handle. As I oscillated from "I shouldn't" to "why shouldn't I?" he showed me the fruits of a lifetime's work.
There were boards of all shapes and sizes. The way he talked about rubbing a board down to such a point that every little sanding mark had its own purpose had me dribbling.
"Imagine if all the little sanding marks planed, can ya? So instead of getting the whole board up on the plane, one long board would be made up of millions and millions of minuscule scrapes planing together. Can you see it? Can ya? Can ya?" He licked his lips while he talked and a layer of foam dust disappeared.
Of course I couldn't see it but I could pretend I could. I rubbed the board the way he did and nodded. My son rubbed it, too. He was in for the long haul.
There was this board called the Platypus, which, dare I say it, is the sexiest-looking long shortboard I've ever seen. It was leaning against another nameless mess that looked like a board with two noses.
"Well, yeah. Two noses, on one board. It's radical, I'm working on it. You might hear about it one day. Or you might not."
Rousa's the personification of what we love about our favourite things. He's walking passion, hanging out in an industrial estate at Ocean Grove in Victoria. And, after agreeing to have him make me a board, I second guessed myself and had a little internet search.
In the real world, online, he barely exists. It makes him even better – he's not in it for the money but for the love of it.
I didn't ask him to put wood that survived the Marysville fires from his dad's shed in the nose and tail of the board. He just did it.
http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/society-a ... 19jbd.html
Hen and I visited a woodcraft outlet the other day, this one in fact.
Took me back to my days of woodwork teaching, and the pride and time and love taken in some of the work I knocked out, of which my Mam still has many examples.
But is there a place for the artisan these days?
Looking around the gallery, I was totally blown over by the quality of work on display, and also by the prices. I would have gladly paid the money being asked for some of the stuff there, if I could afford it, which I cannot, so the point is moot.
I had to wonder how many $16,000 dollar tables they sell, if any.
But as I say, the question is; is there a place in the internet driven world for the man/woman who can take base materials wood/clay/paint/steel or whatever, and turn them into things of great beauty?
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