As I climbed up to begin winding the winch, everyone watched below. But a nasty gremlin struck. One of the pulleys I had bought had enough play between the wheel and the surrounding housing that the cable plastic caught in the crack under the pressure. The winch had so much leverage that before I knew it, way back in the attic the pulley had stripped the cable, which became bound in the mechanism. And this caused its support hook to bend. With a twang, the cable loosened, and the sculpture came suddenly down a bit, though thankfully not far enough to hit the floor. Sigh.

I had to spend a full day removing the old stripped cable, replacing it with slightly thicker, 3/32" cable. I also installed several larger pulleys with less play, and replaced the supports with better quality eye-hooks that even if they bent, would not release the caribiners that held the pulleys. All told, for lumber, supplies, two 60' cables, winch, tools, masks, I spent around $300, less than it would have cost to rent or buy scaffolding.

A day later, it all worked smoothly. We hoisted our hyper-dodecahedron up a mere six inches, and then let it be for another day. If the mechanism or any ferrel were going to fail immediately, the fragile sculpture would be low enough so as not to be too harmed.

Finally, after inviting its creator, Marc Pelletier (below left) over, we applied a little lubricant to the swivel, and cranked it up. The 120-cell was lifted to its final spot, about 15 feet high, in front of the window to shine in the sunlight, high enough that no uppity child (or adult) can directly get to it.

And when that ceiling fan turns on above it, the sculpture rotates, like a dodecadisco ball, showing off its 3-, 5-, and 6-fold symmetries.

Success and Beauty!!