I’ve never worked for anyone. Or for myself for that matter. These commissions all of them, they were just me staring at metal and hand-tools. That certain wonder about how to stand still long enough, and with the right posture. Yeah. People wrote checks and filled out forms. I reckon with all the appointments, the telephone calls, the measurements, the handwritten notes, the emails, and the emails – I’ve spent hours with each client before any tube is cut to length, or a color is selected. These meetings. The years of corresponding. All of it lives its own life and has precious little to do with the actual work. That part made up of the sacred moments when I am alone. Rarely with even a sound in the room, unless I am making it. I live within a balance of four walls, time, experiences, and the material. When the credits roll, that’s all there is. To always wonder about days spent. And to also listen to my only boss. I work for the metal and the hand-tools. When they are served well, I know it’s worth finishing. And then starting over.
Here’s to starting over again. Again.
All This By Hand