The Bottom is Always Becoming the Top

Interview with Rachel Lord

By George Nickoll

Rachel Lord came to surfing later in life. For her 29th birthday, she was gifted a board off the used rack of a Los Angeles shop. While not inculcated from the jump, her upbringing very much so reflects the bohemian sensibilities of a surfing life. She was born in Washington, D.C., and raised in Aspen and later Detroit. Her college years were spent at the Rhode Island School of Design in Providence, RI, after which she had a brief stint in Miami before moving to New York, then LA, then Sausalito, and now Ventura—where she’s accrued a devoted following for her classic, yet expressive shapes under the moniker Lord Bords. Shortly after her impromptu introduction, surfing became the sturdy armature of Rachel’s life at large—picking up shaping 4 years after her first ride, quickly becoming a competitively decorated kneeboarder, and, eventually, engineering her livelihood around building boards. She couldn’t stray further from the jaded surfer/shaper trope—that heckling bruiser with all but the fragile vestige of enthusiasm sloughed off and washed into the surf lot gutter. Always checking, never suiting. Those guys are lovable too, but depend on a crucial antipode to maintain the equilibrium of it all—and those, like Rachel, are much harder to come by. Rachel’s practice displays an eagerness that might not be sustainable in a singularly surfing life—still at it for all the same reasons why we all got into it—surfing new spots, meeting new people, getting better, having fun, even. And while she is predominately self-taught, her diligent studies of traditional board design are paired with a perspective that precedes the surfing influence altogether. The result is an ability to identify and poke fun at certain antiquated elements of surfing subcultures that often remain naturalized. Particularly notable jabs include her 2023 interpretation of Yves Klein’s Anthropmétrie (more later), or the “asymmetrical reversible twinzer picklefork” with fin boxes adorning both nose and tail, or shaping topless during a public shaping exhibition at the 2022 Aljezur Classic Invitational.Although Rachel is perhaps most recognized for her experimental critiques, it seems like her more enduring interest is in honoring, replicating, and refining the proven designs of surfing’s heredity. When asked about experimentation, Rachel clarified that “the beauty of the tried and true stuff really speaks to me.” And she later explained that “The boards I end up liking are the most predictable. I am not a feature heavy or experimental shaper on the daily. Because for me, the artistry comes from how I foil the rails, how I transition from one side of the board to the other and really relishing the subtlety and secret complexity of how a surfboard transitions from the bottom plane to the top. To me that’s the whole poetry.” Rachel’s atypical entry into surfing and shaping combined with her fascination with the classic has earned her the rare characterization of alternative traditionalist. At some point amidst our ramblings on the “secret complexity” of recreating the proven, Rachel and I started talking about drumming. Specifically, about how a drummer leads the band into their tune through a count off. I mentioned that Ray Martinez, percussionist for the beloved NYC Cuban band Ochún, once told me that when a drummer begins the count, it’s never drawn out of thin air, never random—but instead the drummer drops into some kind of thick and preexisting groove. A particularly intrusive scowl of November wind churned off the east river and riffled my paper of questions. Rachel nodded. And soon thereafter added that the same might be true of classic shapes in surfboard design and the subtractive process of bringing them into being. “They’re like platonic ideals and that’s why I don’t stray too far from the traditional outlines that I love. I think that they have an inherent resonance … Like a Mike Griffin. Everything is perfect in a quiet way.” I instantly recalled my old pal and shaping mentor, John O’Reilly, making the argument that when the curve on a shape is just right it begins to hum. I nodded back. Curious about how Rachel has maintained a rebellious status while paying handsome homage to the historical, how her unconventional start has posed boundaries and offered insights, and exactly how she goes about counting off—we kept chatting, and the wind kept humming.

GN: Do you remember a moment when you realized that surfing was the thing you were to devote yourself to steadfastly? 

RL: Yeah, I kinda decided before I started. I kinda knew that it was something that I would really love. I had moments when I was studying sculpture where I was doing that sort of Möbius transition of making one side turn into another side and exploring the poetry of that edge between the two. 

GN: What kind of work?

RL: Wood and metal. And when I started shaping and had that same feeling and locking in sensation I realized that I had found it again. I was really seeking a funnel for all my practices as an artist. With shaping they could exist under the same umbrella, and all my skills and passions could all go in the same direction and not be in these little compartmentalized lockers. I also needed it to be the thing. Because I wanted to devote myself entirely to my love of surfing.

GN: What was it that led you to try surfing? 

RL: I just thought it looked really cool, and awesome, and fun. I grew up on the mountain and so I know that I love harnessing speed, picking a line. Making a turn at speed is my favorite thing, whether it's slalom water skiing, or ski racing, or whatever it is those are the sports I gravitate towards. 

It’s also just so much more than a sport. There’s so much knowledge you need. It’s a way of being in the world that has definitely made me a better person. It’s made me more patient, it’s made me reflect on how I am in other situations and how it can be more like surfing. How can I turn driving my car into something fun like surfing instead of road rage? 

I am sure part of the desire to start was vanity but when you get the feeling of standing up on a wave for the first time it’s undeniable and it was the first time that I had been purely in the moment. Once you get that sense of presence, it’s something that you’re always going to chase. Whether it’s surfing, or Jiu Jitsu, or drugs, or making art. Whatever grabs people and makes them addicted—it’s the flow that you’re addicted to.

GN: You mention that skiing was a big part of your early life, and yet surfing was the first time when all but the immediate was silenced. To an outsider, both share similar elements of speed and sensation. Why do you think surfing can afford a degree of focus that skiing does not?

RL: The first thing that comes to mind is that skiing is so cost prohibitive. Yeah surfboards are expensive but, at the end of the day, the ocean is free. There are so many barriers to skiing that have made it hard for me to access as an adult. And because of that it has never put me in the now. The runs are also short, then you’re on the lift. It’s so tied to ownership and maintenance of land in all these ways that surfing has and doesn’t have. Say what you will about localism and expensive equipment but really it's free and accessible on a more fundamental level. 

It’s also constantly changing. You need to be present to what the ocean is doing. The mountain is more static. The conditions on top change but the substrate itself doesn’t. It requires your presence in the cycle more. In both, you're being a subtractive force, but it’s a different mentality. And on the mountain, you don’t need to share the same way. 

You can tell when someone is a mountain person in the water—they’re so frothy and enthusiastic but in a way that triggers everyone. They don’t understand that they need to wait their turn and that it doesn’t matter that you’re happy and hooting everyone on, you still can’t go for every wave.

Being on the mountain, to me, feels a bit more extractive of nature than being in the ocean. Also, you’re in a conscious organism containing many other conscious organisms which is crazy. Just being in the medium of water itself. I don’t know if people realize how much wildlife is in the Rockaways. I’ve seen more whales over the past two days than I ever have in my whole life. Breaching all over the place, right next to you … so many dolphins. It’s really wild that in NYC you have some of the most rich whales watching 50 yards off shore.

GN: To me, it seems like the more contingent on surfing one's life becomes, the more that flow or zone is compromised by the baggage of expectation. Do you relate? 

RL: Yeah totally. You’ve got something you want to accomplish on the wave whether you know it or not. You’re coming with an expectation and desire to perform. In the same way contest surfing can really ruin your surfing. You can feel the difference. There’s a way that your eyes tunnel in when you're just responding to a wave versus when you have something you’re trying to extract from the wave, something you're trying to do. When you're looking to the end of your board, thinking of that nose ride, versus when it just comes right up to your feet in the natural moment. You can feel the difference. One feels good and one feels like shit. 

GN: Have you teased out any ways of avoiding that baggage?

RL: Stepping away from competition when you can feel that energy building up. Or when it feels like I am forcing nose rides. That’s when it’s time to step away. Being willing to take waves where you do nothing. Being willing to take waves where you don’t stand up. Playful little things that you can do on each wave. How close can I hold my feet together? Playing these little games with yourself will really open up a lot. An aha moment came for me when recovering from knee surgery and I was stuck riding prone for a while and what that opened up in terms of how I approached a wave. Being willing to take off deeper. You know what I really like doing? When I am feeling uptight I play with the way I take off. I play with that a lot over the course of a session. Sometimes parallel, John Wayne cowboy stance, sometimes I am dragging the leg, or seeing how many cross step lengths I can get before I actually pop up. Playing these little games with myself on the takeoff that just set the wave up differently. It leads to some really fun stuff. 

GN: It seems like, for you, experimentation or play comes more so from the physical process of shaping than the product. What does that process look like—alone in the shaping bay—what are you thinking about?

RL: I have a couple maxims that I think about while shaping. One of them I briefly touched on—which is that a surfboard is essentially a Möbius strip, going from bottom to top. And the rail is about how the bottom becomes the top. It’s an interplay of making two opposites the same thing. A surfboard itself is essentially this straight line that’s constantly curving and is never either. And the bottom is always becoming the top even though they’re distinctly different. And so for me the surfboard is entirely about transition. It’s something that’s constantly becoming the other aspect of itself. So when I am shaping I am thinking about the extremes of what I am setting up. I think of each board as if I am painting a gradient. You have your darkest dark, say black, and your lightest light—white. You establish those thresholds and then build the tones in between. So for me, I am always isolating the most extreme—which is usually the nose and tail, and studying the interaction between them.

GN: How have you gone about translating your background as a conceptual artist to the more functional orientation of surfboard building?

RL: If you’re an artist, the process of designing, shaping, and riding a surfboard is the most complete artistic act you can do. You have this conceptual design item that then extrapolates itself out into the world and you get to complete the performance of it. The pure act of what you get to do with it becomes the art. Once you’ve had a taste, you can’t go back. I still love painting, but no painting is going to be as satisfying as riding a board you made 

GN: It seems like material elements of surfing and the tether to functionality might offer a more clear path to satisfaction.

RL: It’s the full package, the essay writes itself. It sucks in a certain type of person looking for clarity in their practice. It sweeps away a lot of the bullshit. It’s a very Dave Hickey move—to go out into the world and find something else to then inform your practice and bring it back. If you’re entrenched in the art world the self-referentiality and navel gazing becomes suffocating. There’s no way out of it. Making surfboards is an escape from that whole cycle. 

GN: Dave Hickey was pretty fundamental in the genesis of Pilgrim, particularly his emphasis on interdisciplinary approaches replacing the static alternative. I know you’ve had some experiences in the past combining surfboard building with conceptual performance art. How did that all go?

RL: My being a woman and my being a shaper comes up a lot. Whether it’s an interview or just in things I encounter being in the industry. It’s a reality of it. And I think that the best avenue I have to talk about that is using the performative act of shaping as a venue for performance art. Or the surfboard as a canvas for making those sorts of statements. For example, there’s so much footage out there of guys in the bay shaping shirtless. It’s like a trope. It’s a cliche at this point. The fetishization of the male shaper. So I like playing with what that means as a woman. The first time I did one of these things was in Aljezur, Portugal when I was doing a board shaping demo at the Aljezur Classic Invitational. And Mele Saili, with whom I’ve had this conversation before, is like; “Take off your shirt!” And so I do it. But because I have breasts, the act of me shaping topless becomes a whole other gesture than when a man does it. In a way that takes on an extra residue because of the historical context of how women haven’t been seen doing that as much. Even though they have been doing it. It is a pretty patriarchal lineage. It can highlight the way that we’ve overemphasized these differences. It’s always a combination of vulnerability and embarrassment and being on display in a way that’s ultimately for comedy but becomes something a little bit deeper.

The second time I've done something similar was again, for Mele, when they were doing her G&S board launch. I did an homage to Yves Klein’s Anthropmétrie. Where he would have women act as living brushes and cover themselves in his proprietary International Klein Blue. Which is a resin! It’s a synthetic resin. Basically what you make a surfboard with. So toxic. Even the ultra marine pigment, which makes it the special IKB Blue—the pigment sits on top of the medium instead of suspended within it. These women, who are being directed by him to impress themselves on these surfaces are taking on so much harm and risk to their bodies and bearing the brunt of all of this. So I wanted to make a reference to the materials. But also the action. And also the idea of being both the subject and object. Being the muse and the one who extracts the artistic value from the muse. Just by virtue of being a woman shaping, you have so much emphasis put on your body in ways that are not relevant to shaping. That was a really good vehicle to express the dichotomy of being able to objectify while making an object. The way I tied it in art historically was that I used an 11ft glider that was my own template but very heavily (Skip Frye) Eagle inspired. Making the reference historically through the G&S legacy but also realizing that there’s no better stand-in for a penis than a glider. Just the length in and of itself. It’s a very wanky, male flexy board. Then I get to complete the process by riding it and I am essentially riding myself. I am always seeking more venues to build that connection—between the board as a conceptual object and the board as a functional one.

GN: Are you hopeful about a surfboard's ability to communicate something that goes beyond the otherwise insular and sheltered world of surfing itself? 

RL: I think that the materials are really seductive and have historically been that bridge. You have the connection between board building and the finish fetish movement and California minimalism. The voice of California, aesthetically, has been tied to surfboard building since the 60s. I think that to make the specific points that I am making about being a woman in the industry you do need to be a little bit fluent in both conversations, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t appeal. You have a lot of artists who don’t surf who utilize that aesthetic. Like Alex Israel making giant surfboard fins for Gagosian. 

There is a connection between people who don’t surf but have an aesthetic sensibility akin to the act of surfing because of its romanticization and connection to California aesthetics in general. I am more interested in the surfboard as a functional object so I am less interested in making decorative boards. But I am very inspired by people who make functional aesthetic boards. Someone like Peter Schroff. Where it does function, but it’s a sculpture. I think that’s a really cool intersection as well. Definitely not interested in wall hangers. I see the completion of the performance being an integral part to the surfboard as art. 

I am obviously a huge fan of Schroff. I love the intersection between BDSM and surfboard building and “the industry.” That’s hysterical. Obviously his aesthetic sensibilities are just top notch. No one does cooler sprays. His boards are awesome. I love Schroff. I am all about it. Definitely one of my biggest influences.

GN: Seeing as the waves are so consistent in California, does that ever make it difficult to keep your finger on the interdisciplinary pulse? 

RL: Yeah, I definitely feel a kinship to everyone here in New York for that reason. My sensibilities as an adult have always been from the east coast and California has always felt like a cosplay. The proximity to fashion and other spheres is also inspiring to me. At home, I kind of relish flat time. I train Jiu Jitsu, I like to make art and music, and when the waves are good all the time it’s hard to do it all. What I love about New York is that when the waves are good you have this built in excuse to drop everything. No one is mad when you don’t show up on a day that there are waves. 

GN: Have you seen your board building react at all to the differences in the conditions here?

RL: Rockaway poses new design challenges and I am glad I’ve gotten to know it over the last two trips. To really appreciate what those are and the differences in the wave and what's on tap. What I love about Rockaway is that it’s so changeable. Here, you don’t have the luxury of choice and so you’re forced to adapt. The concentration of stuff going on in the Rockaways is also awesome. 

The wave poses some interesting design challenges. It favors a ping pong rail where the apex sits outside of the bottom edge of the board and hits a single concave under the rail, immediately. It sucks you up into the wave but isn’t too temperamental. 

In California, I am always going super flat and very little bottom contours unless for an egg or fish and even still I am keeping it pretty quiet. Here I am more liable to go harder on the features, deeper on the concave, fuller on the rail. I feel like you can get away with more hi-pro over here.

GN: What’s next on your east coast escapade?

RL: I am continuing the tour of going to and building boards in the places where I used to live but didn’t surf. Next stop is in Rhode Island, I am going to Spacerock. I’ll be in Matunuck and probably spending some time in Providence. I went to school there and I am excited to go back. After that I am going up to Nova Scotia, we’ll see. Have van will travel. 

Our sincerest thanks to Rachel for spending time with us here in BK and we look forward to hosting her again soon. Click here to reserve a slot for Rachel’s July 2025 Residency.