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Kinetic Sculpture On the Roll

By John Dorrance / June 18, 1990

MY first penciled sketch, on a dinner napkin, roughly showed a stretched 10-speed: a bicycle designed so that I could recline nearly parallel to Mother Earth while I pedaled steadily along. Over top of the bike, I'd attach a clear fiberglass canoe, like an aerodynamic umbrella, held by a series of reinforced struts. When I reached the water's edge, I could flip the assembly over the float. All the notion needed was a propeller linked into the drive gears, a harness to hold me secure while I was upside-down on the water, some eye-catching fluorescent doodads (maybe I'd paint part of the canoe to look like an Eskimo totem pole), and a bit more think time.

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Yet, admiring the human-powered vehicles at this year's Cross-Country Kinetic Sculpture Race, I'm relieved that I didn't go with my initial imagining and have decided, instead, to gather good ideas and parts for next year. When individuals focus their creative energies on the same goal, the results can be marvelous, if not a bit daunting.

It's Memorial Day weekend. Artists and part-time inventors from around the United States have converged on Arcata, a small lumber town that sits near the redwood-blanketed mountains on the misty coast of northern California. They're here to test their fantasy vehicles against a 38-mile, three-day course crossing sand dunes, mud flats, Humboldt Bay, and the Eel River. No motors can provide forward motion, only the energy packed inside the human body.

Wearing his top hat and mustache, Hobart Brown, a local metal sculptor and the race organizer, reminds me of a circus ringmaster as he talks with me.

Brown staged the first ``kinetic experiment'' in 1969 with six artist friends. Brown's vehicle? His son Justin's tricycle, which the senior Brown decided, during a creative whirlwind, to modify. ``I got carried away,'' he recalls. Dubbed the ``Penta-cycle,'' the trike ended up sporting five wheels, two seats, headlights, and a roof.

Over the years, Brown's ideas have grown along with his race. His home-welded, purple and pink delivery truck measures 12 feet high, weighs 3,600 pounds, and demands a crew of 14 cyclists. But it's not the only kinetic sculpture that captures my eye today.

I watch as three cracked eggs, each the size of a comfortable love seat and joined together, scoot around the streets bordering the town square. The weather is cold, drizzling, and the riders are warming their leg muscles before the siren signals the start. The lead egg sports a pancake-shaped pontoon underneath and a screaming papier-m^ach'e chicken as a hood ornament.

The spectators, estimated at 10,000, mill around these 40 or so odd conveyances. Each vehicle displays a sizable appreciation for fun; the Cheshire cat with its big blinking eyes, pedaled by two women dressed as polka-dot shoes; an espresso coffee cup with a tiny propeller - cup of fools. Some vehicles expose the sloppiness of their creators, thrown together with baling wiring and cardboard. While other contraptions look as if they should have existed long before this event.

Contraptions. The word fits these things. They are far from being dignified or digital enough to be called machines. To me, so much of today's technology appears deceptively flawless, conceived in sterile rooms and divorced from the random wonders of the human condition. Most machinery lacks a sense of humor, and therefore a sense of humanity. Computers are all so serious, but not these kinetic sculptures.

People walk up and examine the vehicles because they can comprehend, for the most part, the webs of gears, the cranks, chains, and pedals. Simple metaphors of the mind, the designs readily reveal the weaknesses and the strengths of their inventors, their preoccupations and natural dispositions. The crowd cheers as a couple of middle-aged Navy men cycle by on what resembles a plywood PT boat.