Our dad, Edwin Shaw, was many things over his 73 years — mask maker, poet, teacher, storyteller, dancer, Tuvan throat singer, bird watcher, songwriter, body surfer, artist, friend, father.
He was from a long line of Edwins and his father and both his grandfathers were Detroit engineers. Along with the family name Edwin was expected to be a builder. And he was, in his own way. But instead of drafting paper, his canvas was salvaged cardboard, a glue gun, and yellow paint in place of a T-square and drafting compass.
Edwin engineered masks and puppets — from a 10-foot-tall chicken to giant monocular heads — as part of Santa Barbara’s Solstice celebrations. The giant head had a full-size PVC-pipe skeleton, working joints, and a second face on the back of its snaking neck. The eyes were usually Edwin’s last addition, because once they were in, the mask told him its name. He’d say it just wouldn’t do to glue the ears on someone that you’d just been introduced to (Edwin was also a big fan of Alice in Wonderland).
