The Artist Blacksmith

In the steep meadow, trees cast long shadows across the path in the early morning light. Far off, below an abundance of blue sky, three black cows walk away from me in descending order by size.  They walk on the path through the broad field of tall golden white brittle grass followed by a hanging cloud of brown dust.

I could have taken a picture. There was something beautiful about the scene. I was riding my bike and thinking about different ways of communicating. The wind flowing over me on a warm summer day, I didn’t want to stop. I can take a picture with words. We speak the same language. I can put words together from my memory that will describe the scene. But will you see the scene as I saw it? 

I am a blacksmith. I forge items from iron and steel. How do I talk to you through a three dimensional hand forged object? Asking this question defines the artist blacksmith. Taking the step from communicating with words to communicating through an object takes observation and intention. In thinking about this picture in my mind of rolling hills, of dry grass, I realized that it was the grass itself, the oat straw, that always caught my eye. The long thin stalk bending with the weight of the oat seeds catches the light and seems to defy gravity. This is where I begin. With an image and a feeling. From there I go to the anvil.



Monica Coyne2 Comments