The Wave Rider
I got a job straight out of uni as a graphic designer for a company which managed social media content for large brands and corporations. Their clients included Phillip Morris Tobacco; a company that made land-to-air missiles and Cillit Bang. I was asked at the interview if I had an issue working on behalf of companies whose practices that some may deem to be “controversial”. Sure, they were essentially asking me to put aside my morals in order to promote the business interests of companies that directly kill people (Probably not Cillit Bang to be fair), but, as it turns out, every man has his price—my price was £16,000 a year.
One month in, having realised that I may have made a mistake not only in my choice of employer but also in my choice of vocation (one of the key attributes of a graphic designer is not finding graphic design really boring), I booked a one way ticket to Australia.
Some highlights from my time there: Kangaroos are genuinely everywhere, met the person who is now my wife, and got a boil on my nipple the likes of which the doctors had never before seen on someone who wasn’t a breastfeeding woman. But one thing I did which I do not recommend is surfing.
As someone from the land-locked West Midlands I do not have a great relationship with water, but after lots of people telling me I couldn’t live in Western Australia and not go and try out surfing at least once I caved and got up at 5.30am one day (already stupid) to give it a go. I had to hire a board and, as a beginner, was given one that was absolutely massive. The first issue with surfing is that to start surfing you have to paddle the board through the bit of the sea where surfing happens and out the other side, past the point where the waves break. Because surfboards love surfing, every time my huge surfboard got hit by a wave I was trying to paddle through I would get dragged back to the shore and have to start all over again. I honestly think it took me about half an hour to get out to the point where all the other surfers were sat on their boards bobbing around, waiting for the most “bitchin’ curl” so that they could “get on the lip” and “rip”. Having had basically no instruction, I decided to sit and observe for a while. I learned that surfers would claim a wave as theirs before deciding to “pig dog” some “pumping peaks”.I floated out there for quite a long time, watching surfers shout “mine” before “popping up” to “chow down on some serious salt soup”. Then suddenly, a wave approached (which I can only estimate was about 300m tall?); surrounded by seasoned surfers (who all took one look at its terrifying size and said “nah”), I knew that it was now or never.
“MINE.”
What happened next is a blur of water, terror, and regret. As the wave reached me, I did manage to stand up for a split second on the board before the nose dug in and I hit the water, mouth first, screaming. This resulted in me swallowing loads of sea before getting pummelled by the water and dragged all the way to the shore by my surfboard. I crawled on my hands and knees onto the beach and immediately vomited a significant amount of the Atlantic back from whence it had come. I decided there and then that I would not be giving surfing another go—a decision that was completely justified 3 minutes later when the shark alarm went off and the waters were evacuated because there was an animal in there that wanted to eat us. 0/10.
I present to you: The Wave Rider. Ideal if you want to experience the gentle rocking motion of the ocean without the risks you have to endure to “let fly a wet bird from the waviary”.
Natural Birch Ply frame, with spray finished elements and wool sling
115cm x 65cm x 70cm
