Kelly Backs
Artist Blacksmith
Membership
Artist Blacksmith's Association of North America (ABANA), member since 1996
Circle Craft Co-op, member since 2011
Artist Blacksmith's Association of North America (ABANA), member since 1996
Circle Craft Co-op, member since 2011
Thoughts on being a metal craftsman
Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night. Sleep becomes impossible until pen
has connected to paper to the satisfaction of the vision in my head. An idea won't leave
me alone until it reveals itself, in at least two dimensions. Losing the idea is not my
fear. That fear belongs to the idea itself, struggling to live, fighting its way into the
physical world. Some of these creations are content with their flat rendition, and are
not strong enough to go beyond the page. Others will nag and prod, or turn my path to
become manifest.
Metal was not my first medium, and may not be my last, but it is something that
inexplicably lures me and brings my visions to life. When I was in kindergarten, they
divided the class into different craft areas. The crayon table, the Lego blocks, blunt
scissors and colored paper, and the Plasticine. No one had an assigned place, except
me. When the teacher saw the focus of my attention with the clay, she allowed me to
stay there the whole day, every day. I haven't been without a chunk of Plasticine
since. Putting heat to metal, then smashing it, I substitute tools for my digits to
reproduce the forms that my 6-year-old fingers did a lifetime ago.
Time has tempered my need for the nearly instant results I achieved then, and
given me the skills to bring my visions to life. Now, like then, a lot of the joy is in the
doing, the actions involved in fashioning something lifeless into something that speaks
to me about myself. The sweat and force involved in shaping metal teaches me my
limits, but at the same time, urges me to go beyond them and reach for new heights.
The might and subtleties of the hammer demand my total attentiveness for us to work
as one, and rewards me for my efforts. The magic of the fire draws me to it. Taming it
as a tool is the challenge.
Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night. Sleep becomes impossible until pen
has connected to paper to the satisfaction of the vision in my head. An idea won't leave
me alone until it reveals itself, in at least two dimensions. Losing the idea is not my
fear. That fear belongs to the idea itself, struggling to live, fighting its way into the
physical world. Some of these creations are content with their flat rendition, and are
not strong enough to go beyond the page. Others will nag and prod, or turn my path to
become manifest.
Metal was not my first medium, and may not be my last, but it is something that
inexplicably lures me and brings my visions to life. When I was in kindergarten, they
divided the class into different craft areas. The crayon table, the Lego blocks, blunt
scissors and colored paper, and the Plasticine. No one had an assigned place, except
me. When the teacher saw the focus of my attention with the clay, she allowed me to
stay there the whole day, every day. I haven't been without a chunk of Plasticine
since. Putting heat to metal, then smashing it, I substitute tools for my digits to
reproduce the forms that my 6-year-old fingers did a lifetime ago.
Time has tempered my need for the nearly instant results I achieved then, and
given me the skills to bring my visions to life. Now, like then, a lot of the joy is in the
doing, the actions involved in fashioning something lifeless into something that speaks
to me about myself. The sweat and force involved in shaping metal teaches me my
limits, but at the same time, urges me to go beyond them and reach for new heights.
The might and subtleties of the hammer demand my total attentiveness for us to work
as one, and rewards me for my efforts. The magic of the fire draws me to it. Taming it
as a tool is the challenge.