The Tock of Geneva

A giant roasting spit. Parts of a turn-of-the-century Hispano-Suiza. Bicycle chains and wheels. Parts of a plowshare. A face that indicates time round the world. All this adds up to one of the world's most offbeat clocks--a 5,000-lb., 15-ft.-tall monster that stands in the transit lounge of Geneva's new international airport.

The Geneva contraption is one of a kind. So is its creator, Joseph Heeb, 42, certainly no typical Swiss. He wears a grizzled beard and hair down to his shoulders, drives a vintage Jaguar roadster, dresses like a Left Bank bohemian. His extraordinary custom-built timepieces, which incorporate bicycle wheels, saddle springs, farm tools and dismembered typewriters, also adorn the Geneva branch of the First National City Bank, a suburban Geneva theater, and the homes of well-to-do collectors from Europe to California. No trained artist, Heeb started his career as a repairer of musical instruments--saxophones, trombones and the like--then took up the restoration of antiques. He came to specialize in antique clocks, scouring the flea markets of France and Switzerland for raw material, patching and selling them at a profit.

Extra Cogs. From there it was a short step to the grotesque timepieces he now builds. At the heart of each clock is usually an old pendulum movement. His favorite is the French Morbier, a standard for grandfather clocks, but these are increasingly hard to find. He tacks on additional cogwheels, pinions and escape mechanisms. "These are not really necessary to make the thing work," he says, "but they add motion. I also like to move the pendulum off center, and then I weld on all sorts of ironware to give it shape and expression. For the really big pieces, I select a drive train from a small Swiss factory that makes movements for church-tower clocks."

Such work does not come cheap.

The clock he built for the airport cost about $4,600. Even more expensive (about $10,000) was the First National City timepiece. It features a peacock, made of typewriter components, which flaps its wings and ruffles its feathers regularly every 15 minutes. Now he is working on several small wall clocks, turning them out in batches of half a dozen or so and selling them for upwards of $650.

Heeb says that his imaginative clocks are "a protest against the stupidity of this cold modern world." Accordingly, his works carry lighthearted names: "Day to Day," "Joy," "More Than Time," "Lust for Life," and "Homage to St. Exupery," his favorite author. He is quick to admit that he was inspired originally by the self-destructing machines of Fellow Swiss Artist Jean Tinguely, but he disagrees with Tinguely's ideas. "He is one of those modern pessimists who proclaim that nothing endures," charges Heeb. "I am against anarchy in art or philosophy. Spiritually, Tinguely's creations don't work."

Heeb's clocks do. "I can achieve accuracy to within a few seconds a day," he claims, but he denies trying to move in on Switzerland's professional watchmakers. "I am not trying to compete with Longines or Omega," explains Heeb. "I have never repaired a watch in my life."

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