By New Times Staff
By Kathleen Vanesian
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Chris Packham
By Robrt L. Pela
By Claire Lawton
By New Times Staff
By Claire Lawton
In his epic "The People, Yes," American workingman's poet Carl Sandburg wrote, "The fireborn are at home in fire." Sandburg was probably not talking about astrology, in which fire signs — Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius — are said to be the action-oriented among us. Zonies, whatever your sign, we are the fireborn. Maybe part of the perceived (okay, real) hell of summer is our commitment to deny that we're at home here. And maybe it's time to turn up the heat and own it.
Pieh Tool Company, Inc.
661 East Howards Road, Camp Verde
If you plan to forge weld, you're going to need both coal and coke (that's hot-burning bituminous coal). Picking up a bag of briquettes at Safeway won't cut it. Patience, grasshopper. There will be many steps before you're ready to haul 50-pound bags of coal and coke back to the Valley (save a spendy delivery charge). Pieh Tool Company can help guide you. Start here by mining Pieh's resources (excellent selection of books) and classes in advance of setting up your own shop with the tools and machines they sell.
When ASU metals instructor Tedd McDonah was studying metalsmithing in college, he made a piece of jewelry that resembled a fishing lure. In what was a slow progression from jewelry to a thesis, he started making actual lures. A folk art class opened his eyes to all kinds of different materials, and he began incorporating found objects and wood. McDonah's aren't necessarily lures that one might use to fish but tiny copper and preprinted steel (tin can) works of art. The hooks, then, become ironic, as these are so precise and beautiful, you'll want to dangle them from your ears. Check out McDonah's latest line of copper and pre-printed steel lures — Recyclures — on etsy.com.
1436 North 44th Street, Phoenix
Lonnie's Inc., which has been selling supplies to valley jewelers, hobbyists, and craftsmen for 30 years, has an impressive selection of books and more. One of the many cool things you'll find here is a late craze in metal work — PMC, or precious metal clay. It's a moist clay-like material infused with microscopic metal particles developed by Mitsubishi Materials in Japan. You work it like clay, let it air dry, then fire it. The clay melts away and you're magically left with a silver or gold alloy object that can be polished, enameled, or soldered like any other metal object. Check out the Precious Metal Clay Guild's mind-blowing online gallery (www.pmcguild.com).
Arizona Artist Blacksmith Association
President's motto: Get it hot, hit it hard! The AABA offers dirt-cheap membership — $30 individual, $35 family — that buys you meetings, newsletters, classes, demonstrations, and, most important, community, even for those just starting to explore metals and how to melt and manipulate them. Check out the member's gallery online for all shapes and sizes of inspiration, from jewelry to massive chandeliers, gates, doors and much in between.
It's time to weld.
Crucibles, ingots, stakes, tongs, mallets, coal — it all sounds so, well, medieval. And hot. This vernacular is more associated with forging, actually, that ancient tradition whereby man melts metal and hammers the bejesus out of it. Forge welding is a process whereby adjoining elements, like layers of steel, are heated in a forge, then hammered together. More or less.
Gas welding and arc welding differ in that similar elements are joined together in the process of applying a filler metal under localized high heat. A welded joint can actually be as strong, if not stronger, than the joined metals. A weld may look like glue, but welding is not like glue at all. A weld happens because of actual inter-atomic penetration. The metals all change, expand, and accept each other. More or less.
Both descriptions are gross oversimplifications of complicated chemical and physical processes. Metallurgy is a broad field, encompassing trade, science, and art. It involves both the practical and the aesthetic. Surely, welding is a metaphor for a human quest, something bigger than itself. But what?
ASU metals instructor Tedd McDonah supposes that some people derive a certain satisfaction from hitting or hammering, transforming a material that is not easily worked. Others may be drawn to working with precious materials. Still others may be drawn to the how of metalworking: How can I use (insert technique here) to actually make something cool?
McDonah is a strapping Wisconsin farm boy who looks like he might play center for the Red Wings. Naturally, he was resistant when a friend tried to persuade him to take an undergrad introduction to metalworking (read: jewelry) class. Then he heard he could eventually learn to make a knife (that's called bladesmithing in metallurgy jargon) if he got this prerequisite out of the way. He changed his major to art, met his wife (who is metals chair at ASU), and even made some knives, which are layers upon layers of metal welded together.
But knives are hardly the focus of his skills or work today, the breadth and depth of which are frankly overwhelming. As is the beauty of his work. As is his humility. On a tour of ASU's blacksmithing studio, he points out his grandfather's old trip hammer, which he brought back from Wisconsin last summer, as quietly as he shows his impeccably welded steel and found object piece, Heavy Duty Hanukkah Menorah.
Right now he's big into mokume-gane (translates to wood-grain metal or wood-eye metal), a process developed in 17th-century Japan. It's semi solid-state diffusion bonding, which is welding without filler material. With time and heat, molecules of dissimilar (usually nonferrous) materials intermingle with each other, are deformed, and some materials are removed. McDonah is interested in how this process produces results that look like water surfaces rather than wood grain. He spends his summers fishing the lakes of Wisconsin, and his inclination to express those experiences through metal is obvious in his work.
JC, a wry and soft-spoken industrial aerospace welder, became enthralled with welding as a kid driving her friend's go-kart. Her friend's father hadn't yet taken the go-kart in to have the linkage welded, so the driver had to reach behind the seat to work the throttle. "That always bothered me," she says, revealing intolerance for flawed design that, coupled with a natural affinity for metal sculpture discovered in high school, led to a lifelong pursuit of "the perfect weld."
Once, she almost bailed off a ferry ride to Alcatraz because the vessel was such an egregious example of shoddy welding. A good weld should have a methodical series of waves, like a roll of pennies leveled on a table.
Perfection is important to an industrial welder. Having professionally welded everything from huge aircraft cowlings that she could crawl into to a razor blade for an airbag (a prototype that failed, BTW), JC knows her way around a TIG welder. She has also worked with legendary Memphis Group sculptor Peter Shire and makes whimsical sculptures of her own that incorporate light and electricity. Her professional perfectionism in evident in gates, doors, and furniture that she's welded, together with those lamps that "look like they've been in outer space."
JC thinks people are drawn to welding because metal is the strongest element. "People who are in jail are behind bars," she says. "So if you can manipulate that, it's a sense of power in your life." Private by nature and appreciative of the anonymity found in welding, JC personally feels drawn to it because we just don't hear about famous welders. Let's face it, she says, "Welders pull their hoods down, strike an arc, and clear a room."
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