Savannah

I've reached it, the city that Sherman didn't raze to the ground. It's beautiful. Like something out of every person's quintessential thoughts of the olde south. The buildings are stagnant in time, trying to remain upright and in tact through the rain, heat and humidity. Moss stretching from trees and green leaves like rich pieces of candy hang lazily in the wind.

The rain only recently let up and the night has become somewhat cool. I'm staying in the Savannah Pension, a second story apartment in an old residential building turned hostel. I'm the first and only guest of the season. This is one of those places that you know you will return to.

John C. Campbell is also one of those places I will return to. The people there were wonderful and welcoming. The pieces that people created.. Such a depth of talent and creativity came out during the course of the week. Among those creative minds was Joey, the Alaskan boat-builder. Here he is holding one of his pieces:


He started by bending flat stock to create a box and then proceeded to forge a metal in-lay based upon the mythological Norse tree of life. He knew what he wanted to create and was able to create it without much planning. If I'm not mistaken the box isn't complete, I believe he is going to continue forging decorative pieces around the other sides.

I was glad I was able to talk to him as much as I did. At 19 he was in the amazon with a friend or two floating down the river on a raft that they created with the machetes they carried. He's been apple picking in New Zealand, hitch hiked with his girlfriend from NY to Montreal, worked on a pig farm in England and so much more. He has become learned through travel, funded by bouts of work, much like what I did to get to where I am now. A fun fact, he plans to turn those pants that he is wearing in the picture into chaps; they're so hardened by god knows what kind of oils and dirt and debris that they're unwearable without long johns underneath..

Sitting around or driving for long periods of time listening to regional radio stations, it has dawned on me that when you're in the south you have to listen to country music. When you're anywhere else you can choose your poison. Its something about being in the place where the music comes from. Perhaps you can understand it better. I'm listening to Joe Purdy at the moment. He's more folk than country but his voice comes from the mountains, and anywhere there is mountains, good music is made.

The banjo (pronounced banjar) making instructor at the folk school actually left where ever he was from to spend years up in the mountains of North Carolina to learn classical banjo from those who came out of the womb with one in hand.

I'm signing off here and will be back to blog tomorrow.

Yesterday

We finished up in the forge cleaned up shop, showed off our work, ate, listened to the Redhead Express, sat around, talked and spent the night in a wonderful fashion.

The class was in overdrive yesterday, and it wasn't until all the work was done that it hit us. After a week of constant smithing, eating, and socializing with people from all over the US and Canada, we found that we were a little bit more tired than we thought. Although, a few cups of coffee seemed to fix that problem.

The piece that I'm most proud of is the re-creation of Whittaker's coat rack. I've sort of come to terms with recreating pieces. I suppose its like learning painting through re-creating Monet, Sargent or Malevich..

Thanks goes out to Verne for his input, Jennifer for holding the thousand degree metal while I upset (formed) the ends, and Susan Hutchinson my instructor who was great about my constantly asking questions.

The work done by my classmates was fantastic. Basically everyone besides Joe was a beginner. I might wait till tomorrow to throw their work up on the blog. At the moment I'm about ready to head off for Savannah.

A Moment to Spare

I've caught the blacksmithing bug. I'm here writing but would rather have a hammer in my hand, an anvil to my right and a forge to my left. Today has most likely been the most productive day in the shop. Early on Paul, the resident blacksmith (a job smiths would die for), came in and helped me with my hammer grip. He and Susan, my instructor for the week, both trained with Uri Hoffi, an Israeli smith. Uri not only patented a way of striking, but makes his own hammers. Every now and then he travels to the US, teaches classes, and visits smiths. I looked into his classes but was somewhat swayed by the hefty price tag..

Last night while talking to my parents they suggested I make a new coat rack for the basement, so I did. Rather, I should say I have been building it and hope to finish it tonight. My coat rack is based off of Francis Whittaker's. From what I've gleaned, Francis Whittaker was the head smith while the Folk School was being put together. You can see his coat racks in the dining room down the hall where one drops off his plates.

I've just finished the hooks and need to brush the scale (the flaky stuff that forms when the steel oxidizes). If I want to finish tonight, I must get back to the shop..

Getting Closer

I'm finally putting together finalized pieces. The tongs that you're about to see aren't complete, I still have to put a rivet through the flat pieces behind the "jaws."

The heart is held against the hanger with strap hinges.

Hooks

Tongs

This is another heart, actually the heart that I placed in the plant hanger.

What I've Done

An unnecessarily large fire.

A work in progress

A Texas Nose picker

A "pineapple twist"

Coat Rack, turned out to be a Pi symbol

9 Hours in the Fire

The black isn't coming off my hands. As people from my class went into the dining hall you could hear people all over say something like, "Oh, you must be in blacksmithing."

Its been so long since I've been in the mountains. They stand surreally, almost like a set on a hollywood movie. I've also forgotten how many stars there are. I walked back from the smith shop last night sometime around 10:30 and stood there on the hill to my cabin, just looking up.

So far I've made 10 or so hooks, an L piece used for hanging plants and such, a Texas nose picker (I don't know what it is either, I didn't invent it), and a piece meant for hanging jackets.

I should have pictures of my pieces either tonight or tomorrow morning, for the moment, enjoy the view.

John C. Campbell

I arrived yesterday afternoon around three, and was into the forge by eight. Susan Hutchinson, my teacher, stood five-foot-something-small and was maybe just as or more excited than we were. In all there are seven people in my class coming from as far away as Illinois, California, and Alaska. Joseph, the guy from Alaska, has been here for one week and is going to be staying for three more. He is a boat builder by trade and wants to be able to incorporate traditional techniques in his craft. He showed the class oar locks he made last week, and they were something else. While we practiced making points and hooks he blackened his pieces which is a process where you heat up the metal to a black heat and apply a wax. When it cools down the metal and wax harden and its given almost a matte black finish.

I don't have any pictures just yet but should have some tomorrow. The only place with wi-fi here is the main lodge, it has a name but its escaping me at the moment. I'm not sure whether I'll be blogging in the mornings or the night just yet, it all depends on how much. time I can spend in the forge..

Asheville

the Austin of North Carolina. I don't even know where to start... I suppose I could start from the beginning. (was that cliche?)

I arrived at Bon Paul and Sharky's hostel, about two miles outside of Asheville proper, around eleven or twelve. Justin, the caretaker, was checking his mail and came out to my car as I pulled up. With a firm handshake, we were introduced and I was shown about the property, from their epic backporch to my dorm. Mitch was still asleep as Justin and I walked into the room. The hostel seemed to be slowly waking up from a late night. Sitting downstairs I watched as the kitchen slowly filled as other people from the upstairs filed in to make breakfast...

Picking up a map of Asheville I walked to the bus stop and ran into Mitch who decided to come along. Sitting across from us was the most unusually clad man. Wearing pin stripe pants, a white v-neck, a bright yellow hoodie, and a blood red mohawk he jovially talked on his cell. When I asked no one in particular if I had just missed the stop for downtown, he was the only one to answer, we had. He was a good representative for the city as a whole. A wonderfully eclectic mix of artists and misfits making a living on whatever they could do. Street artists abounded in the city, one of which I captured on video. However, my cable is upstairs in the bedroom where another person is sleeping.. so I will have to upload the video on another day.

Mitch, from the Isle of Wight in England, needed to pick up some bluegrass cd's where as I got distracted by an art gallery. It turned out the gallery was a co-op (REI?) and my instructor for the John C. Campbell Folk School was a member. It was great to see her work and see that she had a piece that incorporated both metal and glass; it was a lamp with a leaf motif. The actual glass in the lamp was a brilliant blue with speckles of white.

I can't wait to spend time in the forge. But for now, I'm spending time with the other hostellers and good music, bluegrass music that is.

Hillsville..

Its true to it's name. A gaggle of pit stop places and overnight abodes are scattered off exit 41. From my window I can see the pool which I will not be swimming in and the interstate passing through the valley.

Today's drive was the most enjoyable drive thus far. With ascents up mountains and hills and bridges spanning valleys and waterways, it made for a scenic route. Only once did I see another plate from Massachusetts. Besides that it was all Virginia, Maryland and a sprinkling of other northeast states.

Although I expected it to be warm and to see leaves here, I am content with the landscape, the weather, and the lush greens of the pines.

The District's Best

Even with the Potomac churning in the winds of the District, Jefferson and his words stood eternal.


This afternoon Kat took me along the waterfront and bought shoes at BCBG. We viewed the million dollar shacks in Georgetown and had a classic Italian dinner at the Paper Moon.

Seeing what people can do with glass makes me wonder how it can be incorporated into metal. This piece was in the Renwick Gallery. Sadly, Paley's Portal Gates had just recently been returned to the museum and weren't installed yet.

DC Snow

I saw snow this morning, something, it seems, I haven't seen for ages.  Its funny that I saw it down here in DC and not while I was in Maine, braving -2.

Spent most of the day in the library reading The New Edge of the Anvil, then realized I was burning myself out.  I left after six and a half hours and walked DC.  I tried to stop by the Renwick gallery to see another of Paley's gates, but they were closed behind thick wooden doors.

Tomorrow is my last day in DC.  

Fifth Floor of the Adams Building and in the Cathedral's Crypt

Today I woke up early in order to go read the Library of Congress. Stepping into the crisp D.C. air I joined the throng of suits, yuppies and aspiring politicians on the train inbound. Even the subways are utilitarian, built with nothing but reinforced concrete.

After registering and becoming an "official researcher" I traveled through the underground tunnel to the Adams building to read in the Science and Technology room. The reading room lay on the fifth floor. With vaulted ceilings held up by pillars of concrete and marble, the room was spacious enough to give the feel of a library; however, if you took away the cherry reading tables and the shelves holding the encyclopedias, the room might easily pass for a common room in a prison, except for the fact that they tend to put windows in prisons.

For quite a few hours today I indulged myself in The Contemporary Blacksmith by Dona Z. Meilach. As I read I came upon her description of a certain blacksmith by the name of Albert Paley whose work actually resides in the lower level of the National Cathedral. Pictures and descriptions are all fine and good but to lay hand and eye upon a piece is an irreplaceable experience. I packed my belongings, put my books on hold for another day and made my way through subway and over streets.

Prof. Beatty at Holy Cross mentioned Paley before. At the moment Paley might be one the of preeminent metal sculptors in the United States. The way that the metal in his gate wraps and weaves makes for a piece that is at once in discord and harmoniously in sync. Your eye is drawn to the vacant space in the middle of the sun and the aptly placed bronze and then your eye follows the rays of light as they play and undulate throughout. My pictures don't do it justice; however, you can see his process on his web page.

Across from Paley's piece was another intricate gate. The sheer detail in these pieces is amazing.

I was surprised by the gate that you see above. For the most part gates are one static fixture. What the artist did with this piece was to make the inside sections fluid. The artist joined the pieces in such a way that they were hinged off one another.

According to Dona Meilach, there is one more Paley piece I need to see tomorrow at the Renwick gallery...

DC Thus Far

Interception - Mark Tansey

The sails of the Dutch are beautiful and bold, as tall and proud as the towers and buildings of their cities.

Sargent has grown on me and might be my favorite American painter.

I've found D.C. to be dominated by concrete buildings...

I'm from DC - Tabi Bonney

I can see the sky.  Instead of towers looming over me, I can see the sky.  In Washington D.C. it was blue today.  To have towers overhead in New York  it almost felt safe, as if the soaring buildings acted like walls, surrounding me, keeping me from feeling the harsh reality of life beyond Manhattan.

The reality is that people work in Manhattan and live elsewhere.  Even Terry lived in Newark and took the express in. The reality is that Manhattan, to me, is still more of an idea and in that non-physical, intangible form I can still shape it into the New York of hopes and dreams.  

In D.C. I feel like a transplant; I feel as though everyone in the city is a transplant, no one actually lives here.  Its too clean.  Everyone comes into the city for show, like the senators to the senate for the most important votes.  I wonder what I expected.  Perhaps more giant, more imposing monuments.  I wanted to be confronted by history and a sense of shameless nationalism.  When I first entered D.C. the car came over the crest of a hill and idyllically the capitol building sat on the horizon with the Washington Memorial behind it jutting into the sky.  I believe its important that no buildings dwarf those monuments and in this way I'm semi-alright with the surrounding urban sprawl.  I've yet to be beyond Kat's dorm, Trader Joes, and Starbucks.  Tomorrow I'll have pictures, tomorrow I'll be a tourist in our nation's capitol.

I ____ New York

Sitting in a Starbucks eating a baguette and cheese which I bought elsewhere, drinking a coffee I also bought elsewhere, Terry sat down beside me at the window bar. Of course we didn't formally introduce till 45 minutes into the conversation, but thats beside the point. I've had random conversation with wonderful people while here in the city. Last night, while eating a mixed-berry cobbler in a hole-in-the-wall eatery Mary and her mother (if you're reading this forgive me, I'm terrible with names) struck up a talk on all things travel and art. Terry, an investment banker with Citi Group, talked about everything under the sun. A self-proclaimed southerner, he said he'd be able to talk all night if it weren't for dinner reservations uptown.

Sitting in the window on Hudson Ave I saw men walk by with bouquets in hand, lovers with matching red scarves and couples carrying each-other's hands. Valentines day had a choke hold on the city, and it was most apparent on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building:

Earlier in the day I visited the Museum of Modern Art. Below are pictures of my favorite pieces:

10 am

Uptown, downtown, sliding through time in the underground.  Its 10 o'clock on a Saturday and New York is waking up.  Or maybe I'm just waking up and everything is moving slow.  Today, I'm going to see this wonderful city.

From Paper to Production

With the help and guidance of Matt at Falling Hammer Productions I created my first fully conceptualized piece.  The piece that you see above took six hours to make.

To create the four leaves I used a band saw to make four 3/8 "fingers" out of a 3/4" bar.  To achieve the "gold" finish the steel was brushed with a brass brush while the bar was in black heat (1000 or so degrees).

I've spent the last few days at Trinity in the insurance capitol of the world and will be moving on to the big apple tomorrow.