The Monolith

We spent all day working on one stone - a ten foot long granite monolith abandoned in an old quarry on the coast of Maine. 

We transported the excavator to the former quarry and walked it down an old dirt road into a small clearing in the woods. We moved the stones surrounding our sleeping giant as delicately as possible, taking the extra time to strap them and move them gently with the excavator. Stones like that have a tangible presence. They’ve been sitting there so quietly for so long, we found ourselves almost whispering.

We got our stone out of the pile unscathed. When rocks have this much patina, scratches from the excavator’s teeth or from banging against other rocks can break the spell of timelessness.

We walked the colossal stone back down the gravel road and loaded it into the truck. We put the excavator back on the trailer and towed it back to the job site where we unloaded it again. The site is so tight, too tight, really, for what we were trying to do, so we returned the trailer to the quarry for more space. We came back to the site, and, with nerves on edge, unloaded the stone from the truck.

Strapped to the excavator bucket, we maneuvered the stone around the side of the house through a narrow corridor between the staging the carpenters were using to side the house and a garden shed they’re building. 

We measured the stone and its new home countless times before cutting it for length, height and fit. We only have one shot at this. We’re using the only stone we were able to find in the quarry that met all of our dimensional and visual requirements. We cut the stone and strapped it up again. We made it around the far corner of the house and set it into place, nestled between a finished exterior wall and wooden steps. We shimmied the strap out and the granite block landed on top of the stonework we’d built the day before with a satisfying thud. Music to a stoneworker’s ear.

It went flawlessly. The stone fits perfectly. The house is fully intact. We didn’t fuck anything up. There were countless chances for something to go wrong, but they didn’t. It couldn’t have gone any better. Except….

I don’t know if I like it. 

I like it, but do I like it for the right reasons? Do I like it because it looks amazing and adds to the beauty we’re trying to create? Or, do I like it because it was hard and I’m proud that we accomplished a technically challenging install? There’s a big difference between the two. Just because it went well doesn’t mean it’s right. 

Does this stone serve the project or my ego? I can’t answer that honestly right now.

UPDATE: This journal entry was from a few weeks ago. After living with the stone for a few days, it turns out I like it. For the right reasons.

When you’re attached to your work, how do you step back and see it for what it really is?

When you love your work, how do you not get attached to it?

Do you ever struggle with this in your work?