As Covitz works, his breath fogs the air, and within minutes ice shavings coat his clothes and pile around him on the slick wooden floor. With painstaking precision, he slices details into the dragon’s snout and back, one scale at a time, using chisels, drills and grinders. When he’s finished three hours later, Covitz uses a gas torch to clean off the shavings and give the dragon a glassy polished finish before he delivers it to a 40th birthday party celebration.
"I love the presentation and to see people’s reactions," says Covitz, 35, of Cheshire, Conn. (pop. 28,543).
Covitz is no ice-sculpting amateur. In fact, he’s among the nation’s elite. He won the 2004 National Ice Carving Association Championship (NICA) last February in Bensenville, Ill. (pop. 20,703), and he’ll try to retain the title during this year’s competition Feb. 12-13.
"Bill is always very creative and has a talent for making his carvings look like they’re actually moving," says Alice Connelly, NICA’s executive director.
While he’s talented, Covitz’s abilities are recently discovered. He trained with chef knives, not chain saws, as a 1991 graduate of the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, N.Y. (pop. 20,857). While working as a chef at high-end restaurants, including Cordillera Lodge near Vail, Colo. (pop. 4,531), he became fascinated with ice sculpting. Five years ago, he followed his heart and swapped chopping boards for chopping blocks and launched Ice Matters, a company that supplies ice sculptures for weddings, bar mitzvahs, corporate parties, business open houses and winter festivals.
"At first everyone doubted that I could make a living," Covitz says.
Fortunately, demand for Covitz’s ice art has snowballed, and now his wife, Jennifer, handles office duties while he creates sculptures in the shapes of castles, company logos, swans, fire engines, flying monkeys and even frozen 8-foot-long serving tables and bars.
In his studio, Covitz dresses for work in ski pants, stocking cap, insulated boots and gloves before turning giant slabs of ice into elegant works of art with noisy power tools.
"The job is very physical, very backbreaking," he says. His assistant, Dan Martin, 35, of Southbury, Conn. (pop. 18,567), helps wrestle and shrinkwrap the finished carvings and transport them, bundled in moving blankets and sometimes a refrigerated truck, to locations throughout Connecticut and New York.
To avoid meltdowns during the nine-hour-long outdoor national contest, contestants work under tents as they carve individual pieces and pack them away in dry ice. When the sun goes down, they assemble the sculptures and perform the finishing touches before a crowd of awe-struck spectators.
Judges award points for attention to detail, proportion, technical skill, creativity and the overall impression of the sculpture. Last year, Connelly watched throughout the day as Covitz chiseled parts, not knowing exactly what he was creating until the 13-foot-tall statue of the Cat in the Hat—with a tipsy fishbowl on one finger, a birthday cake crowning his hat and a platter teetering on his toe—came to life.
"It was amazing—all those details and even birthday candles on the cake," she says. "That’s why he won."
As for the fact that his masterpiece melted into a puddle six hours later, Covitz wasn’t disheartened. He just started dreaming up a new idea, maybe one even cooler than the whimsical cat that he carved during last year’s competition.
"I try to outdo myself and see how far I can push it," he says. "I compete for the love of it, the artist end of it."