One More Memoriam

“We all die, but we are not gone as long as we are remembered.”

Don’t know who first said that but I think about it often. My generation is approaching the time when we will only exist as memories. One memory that surfaces every day for me is that of my father. Every morning, when I build my first cup of coffee, I use something that my father made to tamp down the grounds in my Keurig pod. He never intended it for such use but it is perfect for the task.

I’m not sure but I think it was a prototype of a sealing wax stamp he was designing. I can picture him making it. First attaching a thick silver disk to on end of a one inch ebony dowel; then turning it on a lathe into the elegant shape you see here. I’m pretty sure he used a 1/4″ silver rivet for the attachment but I’m not willing to dig into it to be sure. The final step of engraving a mirror image initial was never done on this piece.

I’ve always loved this piece but until I found this use for it, it would sit in a cubby on a workbench to be appreciated only occasionally. Now I get to start every day thankful for having had such a wonderful dad. It is so cool to be cruising through an ordinary day and suddenly realize how I have benefited from some life lesson he unconsciously passed on. So many of which cannot be taught through words, only by example.

Growing up in the traditional craftsman world has shaped my thinking ever since. The true craftsman’s skill was the ability to create something you could hold or see from every angle that accurately represented a plan, drawing or mental image, and do it repeatedly.

The artist was not held to the same standards. The artist could let the piece take part in it’s creation. The final result was achieved only when the artist agreed with his/herself that the process was over. The craftsman viewed many artists as con artists with little real talent; after all, the craftsman couldn’t fake it. I often felt bitter resentment when I saw some no talent “artist” raking in the dough while really talented craftsmen struggled for recognition. I was of course, the only art critic that mattered. Kind of a, “Money for nothin’ and chicks for free” mentality. “That ain’t workin”.

At this point I’d like to apologize for all the gender specific references; I am a product of my generation.

This post started out as a piece about a friend but as with most of my musings, you never know what it will morph into long the way. I looks like I’ll get to that on another day, June 30th to be exact. I think I’ll just leave you with this for now.

Receiving a joke bottle of “fine” wine for his birthday

Four Wise men

Beard removal

Happy Father’s Day