A FEW WORDS ABOUT MY PROCESS

There are a few things that have made me the kind of craftsman and artist that I am. Let me tell you about them...
First, here’s a wonderful word that you may not know: sprezzatura. The Oxford English Dictionary defines sprezzatura as “studied carelessness,” but when I first heard it it was explained as “the beauty of imperfection.” I immediately latched on to “sprezzatura” because a huge part of my inspiration comes from finding that beauty, that singularity, that originality that comes from imperfections. I am an imperfect being and my creations are imperfect. Imperfections in the wood remind me that a particular bowl or box or object was once a living tree, and imperfections in my execution remind me (or maybe more aptly remind you) that the piece was made by hand. I don’t purposefully mess things up, or miss things, but I don’t let a mistake, or a natural imperfection ruin a piece. I highlight it, try to showcase it, let it make the piece unique.
There is also great beauty that neither I, nor nature can impart to something I have made. It can only come from the end user. I have in my possession a cutting board that belonged to my mother’s grandmother. It’s a simple traditional cutting board from the turn of the twentieth century, and as you can probably imagine, it is dented and dinged and scarred with thousands of knife marks, made by generations of my family. Every cut is a time traveler, every nick and dent a storyteller of my past. I think about the craftsman who made that board often. Could he have imagined that his work would still exist, still be used and love a hundred years later? That is what I aspire to. I make my pieces to be used, beat on, scratched and dented and dropped on the floor. They are food safe and not so delicate that they can’t withstand a generation or two of hard labor! Sprezzatura is one thing, but the beauty of utility, and generations of service is another beauty that I hope my work will garner.
That being said, I do strive to make every piece a piece of art. There was a well known woodturner who taught at my high school for many years whose name was Palmer Sharpless, and he used to say, “If it won’t hold soup it’s art!” I know what he meant, he was saying that if it had voids and bark inclusions in it it still had value and beauty even if it couldn’t be used for food, but I think a bit more broadly: it can hold soup and still be art, and it can not hold soup and still be used!
Finally, I want to say a little bit about sustainability and sourcing. As my tag line says, I believe in “bringing new life to fallen trees.” To that end, I use only local wood that has either fallen naturally or been taken down by a homeowner or private person. I don’t buy exotic wood from lumber yards or order it from faraway places. I live in the north eastern US, which was once one of the worlds greatest woodlands and there is an abundance of wood here. That means that you won’t see much of my work made out of fancy burls or curly grained wood with exotic names and colors. Most of my bowls are made from timber indigenous to south eastern Pennsylvania: ash, oak, maple, walnut, cherry and hickory. I am, however, very fortunate to have a relationship with a local arboretum, so you will find occasional species with strange sounding names like Zelkova, Paulonia, and Katsura— not indigenous, but still locally grown!I hope this has given you some idea of my creative process, the why and the what for. I don’t know if it makes my work any nicer to look at or any more useful, but I always like to hear the stories behind the creations, I hope it adds some depth for you too!