No. 143. The Rising Sun Sculpture. He filled his studio with what he regarded as astral clutter. The only still point in the heap of construction was an over-arching plywood sun. He labeled it with a poem, taken from a suite he had written last year called Voyages to the Moon. A Rind of Light a dish of island sweetly circular three hundred yards thick turns the tables as a mountain tectonic of labour swings ever nearer