Here they are. This has kept me busy for 4 days now and the left hand was done last year! I never want to see hands again. Not even Barry Bonds’ hands (oops! Did I say too much?)
One strange thing about how you get from here to there. This is the sawing in two, of a $100.00 Babe Ruth 1935 model from Hillerich & Bradsby. It makes you want to cry to cut into that wood. A guy like Tony Gwynn WOULD have cried. Although I’ve done this before, it never gets easier.
The end result is an expensive bat with no handle. It’s destined for those hands, taking shape on the floor of course.
And here is where I spent the last two or three days–with my head in the hood, mask on; headphones and glasses and headlamp on–bleah~ Tonight was the almost the end of this phase–the last big fabrication item (Did I just SAY “fabrication”? Watching too much Orange County Chopper…).
The last real tricky part is yet to come: carving out the fore arms and attaching them to the hands and then fitting the whole assembly into the upper arms, which are part of the main statue now. But not before the underlying stuff beneath them is squared away. Once you get that piece on, you see the figure absolutely come alive. And then it doesn’t change anymore after that, but you are headed downhill and the realism increases.
I could write a lot more but I am shot and need to go to bed. Ask me the questions.
Last item: Tonight, my nephew made his club team and I am psyched! I worked very hard getting as much information as possible and taking him to hit and do grounders against the big wall for all these tryouts. I think we have a winner. And you know what? It wasn’t who we thought and we never would have found this guy if we weren’t out there networking and keeping our ear to the ground. So much of this stuff is dotted line it’s ridiculous. In this case, it all ended perfectly and I think our team will be a special thing for a few years. We’re in on the ground floor. Someday, when my nephew is older, I will maybe try and explain how much energy went into something he might think was a fluke. –Fog
