This month I interviewed Mikey Elefant and Toney Randazzo.
My morning tea… the cup was made by Jennifer Darner Wolfe, the teapot by Warren Mackenzie, and the spoons by the man with the camera.
Recently I read How to Think Like a Roman Emperor by Donald Robertson. It’s part biography of Marcus Aurelius, part philosophical exploration of Stoicism, and part self-help guide about cognitive behavioral therapy. In short, I found the book to be so helpful during this time that I also bought the audiobook, so I could listen while I carve. Both are comforting. One of the tenets of Stoicism is to put your energy and thoughts into what you can actually control and not into what you can’t. A good strategy not only in today’s world. The last chapter, in particular, walks the reader through the death of Marcus Aurelius, who died during a plague that was ravaging the Roman Empire at the time. It’s a poignant reminder of memento mori. I found Stoicism through Ryan Holiday’s The Obstacle is the Way. It was the summer that my old man died after a long decline from dementia. The book and Stoicism carried me through those days and even darker ones later. I returned to reading about Stoicism at the start of this year, never thinking about how important it would be for me now.
If you’re confused and crushed by the current state of the world, consider reading (or listening to) a book about Stoicism. Maybe the ones I mentioned above or these: Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, Seneca. The Good Life by William Irvine, or The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday.
Working on a Japanese influenced spoon out of birch from the North Shore.
Sunrise on my spoon mule. I’m trying to follow my old man’s advice and take life one day at a time.
I published my first email newsletter for this website. It’s nothing fancy, but it had been on my to-do list for about two years. I’m planning to publish it quarterly, maybe monthly, if it goes well. Regardless, I promise I won’t fill your email inbox with nonsense. Please sign up if you’d like to receive it.
Been carving a lot in ash and love it! Used to think it was stringy, but this batch has been crisp – if there is such a term for carving woods. Knives were made by Luke Jepson, and the spoon is based on a design I pulled from drawings that I bought from Emmet Van Driesche.
While going through the letters of a long-departed dear friend, I found this photo of myself in the metalsmithing studio when I was an undergrad art student three decades ago. Early into that semester, my friend had died unexpectedly in a climbing accident. He had been my best friend throughout high school, and without him in my life during that time, I would have become a very different person. He made the world bigger, so when he died, the world collapsed into just that small sphere of a metalsmithing studio. I drank like Bukowski, smoked unfiltered Pall Malls, stopped going to all my classes except for jewelry making and blacksmithing classes. Nothing else mattered! The forge heat dried away my tears. Hand cranking the blower to feed the ever-hungry flames of a coke fire, I felt my fury burn, and then I hammered away at it until my grief was cold and hard. Still and silent.
Yet it was also during this time that I saw how making something could bring joy, and more importantly, meaning to life. Death may have taken something from me, but I could use my days to create. To make something beautiful, functional, or even both. It became addictive, and I spent every waking hour in the studio, so much that the university eventually kicked me out the following year because I failed all my other classes since I never went to them. I got A’s in all my metal classes, though, damn it.
However, during that immersion into metalwork, I found craft and the gift it gave to persevere and keep trying to push forward. In sketching my designs, I began to observe life and nature and see more beauty than ugliness. I connected with my classmates and learned about honesty through our critiques and inspiration through their work. Craft saved me at what had then been the worst point in my life. I know that there will undoubtedly be more bad times, but I’m grateful to have craft back in my life. To keep me afloat. To bring me joy. To connect. To inspire and be inspired. To be humbled. To continue to learn because that never ends. To know that part of me will always be there even when I’m gone.
As I was digging through letters from a friend who has since passed away. It was good to hear his voice again through his words. In the letters, I found this poem by Countee Cullen:
Any Human To Another
The ills I sorrow at
Not me alone
Like an arrow
Pierce to the marrow,
Through the fat
And past the bone.
Your grief and mine
Must intertwine
Like sea and river
Be fused and mingle
Diverse yet single
Forever and forever.
Let no man be so proud
And confident,
To think he is allowed
A little tent
Pitched in a meadow
Of sun and shadow
All his own.
Joy may be shy, unique,
Friendly to a few,
Sorrow never scorned
to speak
To any who
Were false or true.
Your every grief
Like a blade
Shining and unsheathed
Must strike me down.
Of bitter aloes wreathed,
My sorrow must be laid
On your head like a crown.
I was going to share the poem because April is National Poetry Month. Also, it speaks so profoundly about grief and loss.
I woke up and learned that John Prine had died due to complications from COVID. I loved his music and frequently listened to it while I carved in the woodshop. My favorite memory from Wood Week at North House Folk School last year was carving in the shop at night with many folks. Off in a corner, Liesl Chatman and Marco Good played guitars and sang. I loved the moment and song so much! Later, Liesl told me that the song was Hello in There by John Prine. It’s a beautiful one. Give it a listen at some point today, and after think of someone you know who is older and perhaps alone and isolated from the world right now, and give them a call just to say hello.
I say it a lot, but I mean it every time, stay safe and well, friends. Keep carving.